


Just Off the Key of Reason

by Sunset_In_My_Veins



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-05-23 04:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 60,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14927226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunset_In_My_Veins/pseuds/Sunset_In_My_Veins
Summary: Pete was never fond of sitting still. Sitting still meant letting your mind catch up with you and he didn't want that. Over his years, he had found the easiest way to keep busy was to keep your life chaotic at all times, and the best way to do that was to break any rule you could. After breaking one too many rules and one too many things, the record label decided to try and keep their disobedient bassist in check.Eventual slow burn reader x Patrick Stump sorta thing.





	1. Introduction

**November, 2006 – Paris, France**

Pete stared up at the painting on his hotel room wall, imaging how good it would look in his home. It was a simple piece; a small cottage sat in the middle of a sun-bleached yellow field, hills rolling in the distance. He felt like if he stared at it for long enough that he could permanently become as happy as it made him feel, that he could get lost in those swirls of paint. The artist’s name wasn’t even on there for him to try and look it up later.

“I just really like it.” He explained, turning to the singer lying on the bed.

“Whatever, Pete. I can’t exactly stop you if you take it, I just don’t think you should.” He repeated for the millionth time, wanting this conversation to be over. They had shared this hotel room for two nights and he hadn’t shut up about the damn painting on the wall. They were nearing the end of their international tour for their second album and Patrick wanted nothing more than to be in his own company, in his own house, away from stupid pictures of stupid fields.

“It just-”

“Speaks to you, I know.” He groaned. There was a moment of silence in the room and Patrick prayed that maybe he’d finally let it go.

“I’m gonna take it.” He concluded, turning back to the frame on the wall.

“Fine. Just _stop_ talking about it.”

 

By the time Pete left the hotel the next morning, he had three pieces of art stuffed poorly into his duffel bag. It looked like a squirrel who had no semblance of self-control about how much he should shove in his mouth and was overflowing with things he couldn’t possibly need. Once he had decided he wanted the one painting, he thought he might as well go all in and take _all_ the paintings that piqued his interest. He had to shuffle behind his unimpressed band to get them to their cab without creating too much alarm from the front desk. They had reluctantly agreed, just glad to see him happy about something, even if it was illegal. He shoved the paintings into the back seat of the car in between his legs, warning everyone not to damage his new “masterpieces.” As he stared at the house in the middle of those seas of yellow jutting out from his bag in the back seat of the taxi, he grinned to himself. “This is gonna look so good in my apartment.”

 

**January, 2007 – Chicago, Illinois**

“Peter, you can’t just take things.” Their manager sighed as he ran a hand over his face in frustration.

“But I wanted it!” He argued. Joe rolled his eyes. They had all heard the spiel on the car ride over here; once Pete knew he was in trouble he ran through his list of excuses to try and work out what might get him out of it. He had already exhausted all the half reasonable options: ‘I knew the guy who painted it’ and ‘the manager said I could have it.’ He was now down to _actual_ honesty.

“I know you did, but we now need to pay them out for the art that you took. Do you know how much it’s worth?” He questioned, eyeing the bassist as he leaned forward.

“I dunno, $50?” He shrugged. Patrick rested his head in his hands, dearly hoping this wasn’t coming out of their pay.

“Each piece they’ve valued at $1,000.” Patrick let out what could only be described as a wail as he pulled his cap down over his face. “It was a _French_ hotel. You think they’d put up any old crap on their walls?” He shot a glare towards Pete. “But don’t worry, we’ve already paid them back and apologised on behalf of Fall Out Boy. Considering that we’ve bailed you out of worse situations, it wasn’t _that_ much of a strain on the label.” He explained. “But… we are concerned that if you don’t learn from your mistakes, that you’ll continue to make them.” He rested his hands on the table in front of them, trying to put on his best business face in the hopes that maybe their disobedient lyricist would finally take him seriously. The defiant look in his eyes suggested he wasn’t about to.

 

“So, what? He’s on hotel arrest? Because he’ll only take more random pieces of furniture.” Joe grumbled.

“No. He’s under strict supervision.” He clarified.

“From who?” Andy asked.

“We decided that it might actually be cheaper to hire someone to keep him in check rather than continue to pay people out when he…” He ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to pick his words carefully, “acts out.”

“I have a babysitter?” Pete groaned, throwing his head back against his chair. “Are you for real? I’m not a kid!”

“Are you sure? After you called 911 for the emergency services to help get your arm unstuck from a vending machine last year?” Their manager reminded, shuddering at the thought of how much the fees had been to call out the _entire_ fire department. 

“That was one time.”

“And what about when you tried to jump over a riverbed because ‘someone said you couldn’t make it’ and broke your ankle?” He raised his eyebrow.

“Look, we get it, he has the mental capacity of a thirteen-year-old,” Andy started. Pete reached over angrily and punched the drummer in the arm, “What does this mean for us?” He asked, shuffling forward in his seat.

“You’ll have to make space for five rather than four in your hotels and buses. We will continue to pay touring expenses as we have been, and we will still line up tours for the band. Your… loss prevention representative will join you on tour and will make sure that Peter,” He grimaced at the use of his full name, “doesn’t cause any further damage. Otherwise things will be the same.” He elaborated.

“And if we decline?” Joe questioned, not liking the idea of sharing their space with someone else.

“You lose your contract.” He shrugged simply, leaning back in his chair. Patrick’s head shot up at those words.

“What??” His eyes were full of panic.

“Costing the label as much money as your band has, as frequently as you have, is already in breach of your contract. The fact that we are being so understanding is already more than what most companies would say you deserve.” The band shared a collective look of disappointment. “Look, we thought about it a lot and this seemed to be the best solution for everyone.” He held out a pen to Pete, sliding the paperwork across his desk.

“Yeah, but-” Pete started to object.

“ _Sign it_.” Patrick ordered through gritted teeth.

 

**February, 2007 – Chicago, Illinois**

At first, things didn’t seem to change for the band. They had been home from their international promotion of their second studio album for about four months now, they were jamming and hanging out as per usual. Their third album had released with no issues and had been received excellently. Eventually the label called them with the offer of another tour; they wanted them to do a twenty show, cross-country tour starting on the East coast and ending on the West, stopping at home for a break in the middle and ending with a hometown show to promote their new release. The whole thing would be about four months of travel, shows, and cheap motel beds. They were ecstatic at the thought of being back on the road again, Pete in particular _hated_ staying in one place for too long and was already sick of being home. However, when they stepped into the studio offices to confirm dates, they were forced into introductions with their new “loss prevention” addition to the crew. Joe’s face fell when he was shown who they’d be spending the next third of a year with.

“A _girl_? Really?” Was his instant objection. They’d been assured that she was the best fit for the role, as it was less likely that Pete would try and punch a girl when she told him off.

 

She had spent a long moment taking in the band as they discussed the tour and how it was all going to work; extra hotel rooms had to be booked, buses with extra bunks had to be organised. In the car ride on the way over she had listened to the new album. They weren’t bad by any means, but it gave her a decent insight into the men in front of her. She felt that Pete _instantly_ seemed like a delinquent (admittedly the fact that she had been told ‘Peter will try and get away with anything’ hadn’t helped that bias). It seemed from the outside looking in that he would take any and all excuses to break the rules and get what he wanted. Even during the meeting he was trying to bend the rules about when and where they had to stop, how high their budget was for shows, how many things he was _allowed_ to break on stage. He frequently glared at her from across the room from under his jet-black bangs, already acutely aware of his distaste for their new acquaintance. Andy seemed to be the responsible one. He was happy to run over figures and logistics and make sure everything seemed to be okay from their end of the deal. He didn’t seem to have anything against being stuck with her, but he didn’t seem overjoyed about it either. Joe was mostly silent, making him hard to read. He had opted to sulk in silence that his usual plan of bringing girls back to their bus would be dampened by there _already_ being a girl on it. Patrick seemed friendly, and possibly the most willing to compromise out of the four men. During the meeting he was happy to sacrifice his own privacy in hotel rooms to save on their budget and make the shows better, and he was always open to whatever ideas were brought up. He was the only one who didn’t seem to be completely thrown by the idea of having someone else on tour with them. He was also the only one in the band who had smiled at her when they were introduced.

 

After an hour or two all the details were sorted. The first half of the tour would be self-driven in a bus loaned to them by the label, they would have to find their own accommodation along the way, but living on the East coast themselves they said that wouldn’t be an issue. The second leg would be after a month or so break, they would have a tour bus driver and would be put up in hotels along the way. They had promised that they would at least be civil to their new company, given they’d be stuck together for quite a while. She had agreed that she would keep Pete in check and that he wouldn’t cost the label any unnecessary money. Nobody was looking forward to the sixteen-hour drive to their first show in Boston.


	2. Don't You Know Who I Think I Am?

**Monday, 5 th of March, 2007 – Boston, Massachusetts **

The trip to Boston had mostly passed in silence. She had sat on the back bench of the bus working on paperwork given to her by the label while the rest of them did their own thing. Pete scrawled in his notebook, Patrick listened to music, and Joe and Andy chatted happily at the front of the bus, too far away for her to hear the conversation properly over the music coming from the radio. They had set out somewhat early that morning so that they could sleep well and continue the drive to the venue the next day. Patrick’s older brother lived in the middle of the two cities and had been happy to let them crash at his house while he was away for the week with work. After a few hours of driving they pulled up for their first rest stop to refuel the bus and themselves. Joe was the first to make the brisk jog to the bathroom, and while the others waited for their turn they stood around the small aisles of the glorified gas station convenience store. A pair of blue tinted sunglasses instantly caught Pete’s attention and he strolled away from his two band mates to investigate. He took off his own and tried them on, admiring himself briefly in the small mirror attached to the stand before coming to the decision that he wanted them. Taking a quick glance at the price tag hanging off the side, he ripped it off and slipped his old sunglasses into his pocket. Suddenly he felt a presence standing behind him, so he busied himself examining the rest of the sunglasses on display.

 

“I don’t think you came in with those.” She spoke up from behind him. He spun on the ball of his foot to face her, seeing the look of disapproval etched into her features.

“I’ve had these for ages.” He lied with an easy shrug.

“Really, now?” She asked, her gaze flicking to the price tag lying by Pete’s feet.

“Yep.”

“Put them back.” She ordered, leaning down to pick up the tag and hold it out to him.

“No.” He frowned, pushing them further up the bridge of his nose for emphasis.

“Yes, Peter.” She growled. He could tell she wouldn’t budge, so he opted to change his tactic.

“Pete,” He corrected, turning on his charming smile as he lowered the glasses to make eye contact. “Babe, don’t you want me to look my best? You’re the one who has to look at me every day.” He purred, taking a step towards her and placing a hand on her waist. She only looked up at him, so he continued. “I could get you something too.” He offered, moving close to her ear so that he could whisper and place a kiss on her cheek. For a moment she didn’t react, so he held his ground, knowing full well that girls _always_ fell for his charms. She ran a hand up his chest and moved her head slightly so that they were close enough to feel their breath mingling between them. He was instantly silently celebrating his success as he leaned in for the kiss. But before he could close the distance, her hand shot up and pulled the glasses away from his face faster than he could even comprehend what she’d done. There was no opportunity for him to object as she marched to the counter and placed the glasses and the price tag in front of the cashier, apologising briefly before calling them all back out to the bus. He cursed under his breath, annoyed that he’d been so easily tricked into giving them up. As a move of revenge on the way out, he snatched a candy bar and slipped it into his pocket. But he swore he saw her paying for it at the till through the bus window as he moved back into his seat.

 

It was another few hours before they made it to Patrick’s brothers’ house. It was a small, family home tucked into a suburban neighbourhood with all the usual trimmings; a white picket fence wrapped around the property and a small wooden porch sat out the front with a bench next to the entryway. They felt a bit like they were walking into a movie set with how perfect it looked. Patrick walked up to the door, grabbing the key from above the frame before letting them into the house. The inside was just as sickly sweet as the outside. They were greeted with a staircase as soon as they entered, family portraits lining the wall on the way up. To their left was a living room with a fireplace and a large couch. Further in the back a kitchen could be seen and it was assumed all the bedrooms were upstairs. Thankfully, Patrick’s brother had a relatively large family and everyone could have their own room for the night, but all of them felt a little bit uneasy in the house, like they were intruding even though nobody was home. Pete in particular felt out of place. He was never one for the middle of the road life, and staying in a house like this only made him remember why. Everything seemed so fake to him; the smiles in the posed family photos, the way everything was ridiculously clean and most importantly, the fact that the place seemed like people didn’t actually _live_ here. Andy meanwhile looked mostly at home, though part of him felt the tension as well, albeit for different reasons. Part of him had always wondered what it would be like if he hadn’t chosen this path, and as he examined the obviously meaningful trophies and Knick-knacks placed carefully on top of the mantle, he felt a bit bittersweet that he might never have a life like this for himself. After a few silent minutes of contemplation from everyone, Patrick finally spoke up.

“I’ll stay in my brothers’ room; all of the others are fairly similar but you guys should probably go up and pick where you want to sleep. He told me there was a casserole in the fridge with instructions on how to cook it, so I guess I’ll go work out how to use their oven.” He said with a small smile before moving into the kitchen.

 

It turned out Patrick’s sister-in-law was a very good cook, and Patrick himself was handy enough with an oven to work out how to not ruin her hard work that she had left for them. The meal was mostly quiet, excluding the odd comment about their show tomorrow night every now and again. By the time they had finished, most of them were happy to turn in for the night, tired for being stuck in the bus all day.

“I might hit the hay.” She yawned.

“Yeah, I’m beat.” Joe added, running a hand through his hair. Andy nodded in agreement, pushing his chair out from the dining room table to stretch slightly.

“I’m gonna make sure my guitar is ready for tomorrow. I’ll see you guys in the morning.” Patrick said from the kitchen as he finished drying the dishes.

“Yeah, I should probably tune my bass.” Pete sighed, standing up to retrieve it from the bus. The singer watched from the sink as everyone slowly filed upstairs.

“Hey,” He heard her call from the stairwell. He looked up from the dishes to meet her gaze down the hall. “Don’t stay up too late.” She flashed him a friendly smile and he nodded in response. “And Pete?” She called as he stepped back into the household. He hummed in response as he shut the door behind him. “Don’t break anything.” She added before continuing up the stairs to her room for the night.

“DoN’t BrEaK aNyThInG.” He mocked under his breath. 

 

Patrick had insisted on leaving the house how they had found it, wanting to make sure that everything was clean before taking care of his guitar. After a very long hour of waiting for the bassist, he and Patrick soon found themselves sitting in the front lounge room. Pete had a look of deep concentration on his face as he tried to tune his bass by ear, in the end snatching Patrick’s tuner and doing it properly. “I feel like we should go talk to her.” Patrick said quietly, plucking one of the strings lightly before twisting the peg a touch to the left.   

“Why?” Pete grumbled, slipping his bass back into its bag.

“Because she’s going to be hanging around for like… half a year?” He scoffed. “Do you really want to be angry at someone for that long?” Instantly he regretted his words, because he knew that Pete would _relish_ in that. Pete _liked_ being angry at people. It gave him a reason to be a dick and not feel bad about it, to cut out people who were too much effort. More often than not, it was just easier for him to find reasons to be angry at someone than it was for him to compromise the parts of his personality required to maintain friendships.

“Is that a challenge?” Pete grinned deviously.

“No, Pete…” Patrick sighed. “Just… cut her some slack. She’s only doing her job.” He strummed a few notes, making sure he was content with how his Gretsch sounded before placing it back in the carry case.

“Yeah, well her job is fucking _annoying_.”  He spat.

 

**Tuesday, 6 th of March, 2007 – Boston, Massachusetts **

They left early the following morning to get to the venue with plenty of time to set up for the show. Andy and Joe were happy to split the final eight-hour shift at the wheel, while the other three members of the road trip crew continued the journey in silence. They arrived with three hours before the show, but most of that time was used up in unloading their equipment from the bus and sound checking. They only had just over half an hour to sit down and mentally prepare for the crowd they would be facing. When the time came for them to take the stage, she stood on the sidelines and watched them play. It was undeniable that they put on a good show, and their songs sounded just as good live as they did on disc, if not better. She had wondered if Patrick’s voice was altered at all in their tracks to hit some of the notes that he did in songs, but she was surprised to see that he could hold up to all his own music when it was played live. Joe was happy to get the crowd into it, always jumping and spinning and putting as much energy as he could into all his movements. Andy seemed content to sit behind his kit at the back of the stage and not have to engage with the crowd, but the look in his eyes suggested that he was in his element. And Pete… Pete was just constantly a worry. At one point throughout the show he swung his bass around his shoulders so hard that from the sidelines she could just picture the strap snapping and it crashing into their equipment. Or worse, a part of the venue that the label would have to pay to fix. During another song he leapt off an amp with so much force that it nearly tumbled off the stage into the crowd. When they stepped off the stage for their short break before the encore, she made a beeline for him.

 

“Be more careful with your bass.” She scolded. He looked down at her from over his bottle of water, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he pulled it away.

“What?” He frowned as he placed the bottle next to him.

“How you were swinging it around out there and jumping off stuff, it’s not a cheap instrument.” She elaborated as Andy caught wind of the conversation and slowly made his way over.

“It’s _my_ bass.” He reminded.

“That your _label_ bought for you.” She countered. He stood there for a moment, trying his best not to reach out and punch her in the face.

“Don’t fucking tell me how to do my job.” He growled.

“I’m not telling you how to play, I’m just telling you not to-”

“Break anything? Steal anything? Cost the label any more than the bare minimum they want to offer me? I know! I fucking _know_!” He yelled as he took a menacing step towards her. Andy quickly grabbed Pete’s arm and pulled him towards the stage.

“Come on, we’re back on.” He said, trying to diffuse the situation. As they walked out for their final few songs, the crowd went wild. Pete made sure she was looking straight at him as he kicked a hole through one of their amps in the last number, shooting her a sarcastic smile. 

 

The show was a hit with the fans and the band decided to spend a few minutes by the back door, posing for pictures and signing items. By the time they had finally made their way back inside and loaded all the equipment into the bus, it was just after midnight. Patrick walked down the empty halls of the venue, trying to make sure that they hadn’t missed anything before setting off to their next stop in New York. As he rounded the corner he saw a familiar figure sitting on the edge of the stage. “Sorry that the guys haven’t been very… sociable.” He apologised with a sheepish smile, making his way over to her.  

“It’s all right,” She shrugged, looking up at him. He noticed that she had been reading as he moved to sit next to her. “I can’t say I’d like it if I was told I was going to be stuck with someone I didn’t like day in, day out either.” She shut the book in her lap, turning to face him.

“No, no, no, I’m sure it’s not that,” Patrick assured, although the voice in the back of his mind told him that Pete and Joe were probably not overly fond of her. “They just don’t know you yet!”

“And you do?” She asked with a smirk. He paused for a moment, adjusting his glasses as he tried to think of an answer.

“Well, no… I, uh…” He stumbled as he scratched at one of his sideburns anxiously. “You seem cool. I’m not about to write you off just because _you_ got stuck with _us_. The fact that you’ve put Pete in his place a few times already says a lot about you. Most women would’ve fallen prey to his charm instantly.” He chuckled.

“Thanks, Pat.” She smiled at him, making him freeze for a moment at the new nickname. Nobody had called him that in years, he was pretty sure the last person that had called him Pat had been yelled at so badly that nobody dared to bring it up again. It was a name that he only allowed for family members because he felt bad whenever he told them off for using it, and his grandma also seemed to constantly forget that he didn’t like it. But as he looked at the girl sitting across from him, he felt like maybe it didn’t sound so bad this one time and decided to let it slide.


	3. It's Not Worth the Hearing You'll Lose

**Wednesday, 7 th of March, 2007 - Brooklyn, New York**

Joe had opted to take the wheel for the four-hour trip to Brooklyn after their uncomfortable night of sleep in the bus. It had been cheaper to sleep on the hard benches and get breakfast the next morning at a diner than it had been for them to rent rooms in a motel. Food _always_ won over comfort. They left just after midday, hoping to make it for a decent night’s sleep before their show the next night. The most annoying part about not having a driver was that they had to return the rental bus before they had their flight from one side of the country to the other, which meant their first leg was just one giant circle as opposed to going across the whole country. It would have been easier to just supply their own bus and plan the dates around where they would have to drive. But the label had insisted it would be better for them to split the East and West coast shows and that this was the cheapest way to do it. Given how much money Pete had cost them, they weren’t about to object. Joe didn’t mind though, he’d always liked driving and road trips were a good reminder that the band hadn’t changed as much as it felt like they had sometimes. Between belting out hits on the radio and playing stupid road games, the time was passing quickly. As it droned on into the late afternoon the five of them found themselves yawning, fighting to stay awake. A warm car was always far too inviting. Andy was the first to fall victim to the cosy atmosphere in the bus, falling asleep with his head pressing against his window. Pete kept himself occupied by scribbling half formed lyrics into his notebook, blaring music into his ears to drone out any outside thoughts. Joe had come prepared and bought himself an energy drink when they refuelled to push past the need to nap and get them there on time. It was odd for her being so easily integrated into their normal routines, but she supposed they’d already been doing this for years, they weren’t about to change for some stranger. She looked over at Patrick, who was staring out the window at the passing scenery wistfully. They’d both been relegated to the back seat, furthest away from the air conditioning, when they’d made the mistake of going inside for snacks at the gas station. She leaned against the side of the car, turning in her seat to face the singer and propping her feet up on his legs. He looked at her shoes in his lap for a moment before turning to her expectantly, but she only yawned in response.

“You can sleep if you want.” He suggested.

She shook her head, “I’m all right, just needed to stretch my legs.” She explained. He shrugged as he looked back out the window, resting his hand on her legs.

 

After another hour of driving they pulled up in the driveway of the person’s place that they were crashing at. The record label promised they’d splashed out on the second leg of their tour, but on the first leg they’d had to arrange their own beds on stop overs. They piled out of the bus at about 6pm, grateful to be free from the confined space. Andy had said that this place was owned by a friend of his from a band he used to play in, and that the guy was away for the weekend. The house looked like it had been abandoned. A collapsing chain link fence bordered the footpath, and the front windows were boarded up. Despite being a bit sceptical at first, when Andy fished a spare key out from behind one of the many pot plants at the door and let them into the house, they all figured that he must have been telling the truth. They pushed their way into the small home, eager to claim beds; there were two beds and one couch to divide.

“Well, if you guys want to split up the two beds between you, I can take the couch?” She suggested.

“No, no, it’s all right, you can have one of the beds.” Patrick offered with a smile. Pete quickly whacked him on the back, getting an ‘oof’ and a glare out of Patrick.

“I might think you’re cute, but I’m not gonna share a _couch_ with you. We’re taking the bed.” He said firmly as he walked off to dump his duffel bag in the bedroom. Patrick shot her an apologetic look before following the bassist. Andy felt his stomach growl loudly. Adjusting his glasses, he stepped into the kitchen to investigate.

“Let’s see what we have…” He mused as he pulled open the fridge door. His jaw dropped to see it completely empty. “Aw, man…” He realised his friend must have thrown out all the food to prevent it going rotten.

“Yes! We get to go out to eat.” Joe cheered, looking over Andy’s shoulder at the empty refrigerator as he fished his wallet out of his backpack. “Let’s go!” He sung as he pushed past the front door.

“What?” Pete shouted from the bedroom, already halfway through unloading all his belongings.

“Food. Hurry up.” Andy shouted back as he held the door open for her.

 

They made the trip down to a local bar for a meal and a drink. Thankfully, Andy remembered the way from when he briefly lived in the area and could find somewhere reasonable to eat only two blocks away. The place was pretty stock standard: various sports playing on the TVs, a few regulars sitting at the bar and a floor that probably should’ve been cleaned months ago.

“Well, I’ll go order five burgers then?” She suggested as she walked over to the till.

“Yeah, I’d better come with you to make sure they don’t mess mine up.” Andy added as he walked up to the bar as well. Joe moved to rest his head on the table and try and catch up on the rest he felt like he was constantly missing out on as Patrick quietly watched the random football game playing, mostly zoning out anyway.

“What is there to do around here?” Pete asked as he drummed his fingers on the table.

“Watch the TVs?” Patrick suggested, nodding to the one in his line of sight.

“I don’t wanna watch that crap.” He waved his hand dismissively in the direction of the bar. His eyes scanned the room intently, trying to find something that piqued his interest.

“Pete, don’t have any bright, destructive ideas now.” She warned as she took her seat.

“I won’t, I won’t. Geez, Captain Killjoy.” He grumbled. His eyes fell on a poster hanging on the wall behind Joe. “What day is it?”

“Wednesday, I think? Why?” Joe frowned, looking up at him from under his messy hair.

“Excellent.” Pete grinned, walking up to the bar and leaning over it to speak to the guy pouring drinks. He came back a moment later, microphone in hand. “It’s karaoke night, guys. Let’s get up there.”

She watched in amusement from their table as the bar manager grudgingly dragged out the old karaoke unit from the storeroom. It looked like it hadn’t been touched in at least a decade, probably because this hardly seemed like the place with a roaring karaoke crowd. Pete held the mic to his chest like it was his salvation. He felt like he might’ve never been happier to have one in his hand than at this moment when he was standing on a half-built stage in front of his best friends and otherwise a room of people who couldn’t care less about him. It was nice to not have the pressure of their usual performances.

 

Pete kicked things off with a random song nobody had ever heard of before that sounded like it had come straight out of a 60’s western.

“What the hell was that?” Joe asked as he sat down.

“I dunno, felt like trying something different.” He shrugged with a laugh as he handed the mic over. The rest of the band belted out old favourites from their teenage years, happily getting over invested in the lyrics and singing as loud as they could manage. Patrick was the only one who held back, claiming to need at least _some_ of his vocal chords for their show the following night. They tried to drag her up on stage with them, but she refused, happy enough just to see them having a good night. Andy and Joe soon got over the thrill of singing in front of an empty bar, but Pete was all too happy to take the spotlight for himself. He sung song after song after song until his voice was wearing thin; he could no longer hold up to any high notes, but he made do. He was switching between genres so quickly that nobody really knew what was happening, they were just content to let him have his fun. On his seventh song in a row, someone had finally had enough. A burly man with a beard down to his waistline stood up, booing the bassist from his position at the bar. He ignored it at first, but eventually the guy started shouting random insults at him from the opposite side of the room.

“Hey, what’s your problem man?” Pete spoke into the mic, staring him down from the stage.

“Sit the fuck down!” He shouted back, throwing some bar nuts in Pete’s general direction. Most of them ended up in Joe’s meal, much to his disappointment. 

“No! _You_ sit the fuck down and stop being an asshole.” He spat back. The guy took a few menacing steps towards the stage, his hands curling into fists.

“Pete,” Andy warned, seeing the situation unfolding before his eyes.

“What? You think you can do better than me?” He asked, raising a challenging eyebrow as he held the mic out. That was not the answer the man had expected to come from the hoodie-clad kid in front of him. He muttered something under his breath angrily before making his way into the bathroom, kicking a chair on the way in. “Yeah, that’s what I thought!” Pete laughed into the mic as he stepped off the stage. He walked over to where the guy had been sitting, taking note of the fact that the bartender was busy at the other end of the bar and the bar manager had long since moved into his office to escape Pete. This guy was the only patron left. He fished a pocket knife out of his hoodie and set to work on the stool. As soon as she saw the weapon fall into his hands, she was up, rushing over to grab it off him.

“Pete!” She hissed under her breath as she tried to grab the knife.

“What?” He asked angrily as he glared at her. “I’m not _breaking_ anything.” He explained simply as he snatched it back. She watched as he pulled out the screw driver attachment and began loosening the screws on the stool legs. The small pieces of metal quietly fell to the floor around his feet. He kicked them under a nearby table before placing the stool back down carefully so that it wouldn’t fall apart before he intended. Once he was satisfied with his work, he walked back over to the table and quickly finished his meal.

 

The guy stepped out of the bathroom, looking over at the stage and smiling to himself to see that it was empty. “So, I’ll see you guys back at the house?” Pete asked as he watched eagerly from his seat. He was practically bouncing out of his skin from excitement.

“Why?” Patrick frowned at him, too caught up in what he was eating to have noticed Pete’s antics.

“I am going to need to run very fast.” He continued as he watched the man walk over to his stool.

“Pete,” She started.

“What? What do you _want_? Are you gonna go turn me in now?” He grumbled with a roll of his eyes. 

“I’m here to stop you costing the label money, not stop you having fun.” She clarified. “Also, that guy is a jerk. Just don’t get lost.” She finished as she slipped him a piece of paper with an address hastily penned into it. Pete looked at her for a moment as a grin spread across his face.

“Maybe you’re all right.” He chuckled with an approving nod. They all watched as the guy went to sit on the stool. It instantly buckled under his weight, sending him sprawling on the floor beneath him with a thud. It was like it happened in slow motion, Patrick could’ve sworn he took at least a few seconds to finally make contact with the old wooden floors. He took a moment to compose himself on the ground before staring at their table, making eye contact with Pete.

“ _You_.” He growled, scrambling to his feet.

“Bye!” Pete laughed as he tore out of his seat so fast that he knocked it over. The four of them left sitting at the table doubted that they’d ever heard so many profanities strung together in one sentence as what they heard from the man trying to catch their bassist. There was no chance the guy could’ve caught him, not with how quickly Pete vaulted over the pool table in front of the door on his way out and ran down the street. It didn’t stop him from trying though as he jogged around the table after Pete. The bartender looked at them in confusion. They just feigned innocence.


	4. Let's Play This Game

**Saturday, 10 th of March, 2007 - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania**

After the night at the bar, Pete finally started warming up to the fact that they were stuck with someone else on the bus. He was still trying to find loopholes as to how he could do all the things he wanted to, but currently he would get by with the “you can have fun, but don’t break anything” rule. They left New York feeling like maybe the next few months wouldn’t be as tortuous as anticipated. As Pete watching the skyline fade into countryside he took note of a few signs pointing them towards the Bronx. The name rang through his head. He liked the way it sounded, the way it rolled off his tongue. He scrawled it in the corner of his notebook, making a mental note to build a song around it at some point. The next few days passed peacefully; Pete hadn’t broken anything, everyone was getting along, their shows were going great. During their time in Philly they had opted to rent a small studio apartment after the show. A couple of mostly sleepless nights on the bus made them willing to pay that bit extra for a bed, even if they still had to share. The space in the apartment was a welcome change from their cramped vehicle, and they spent most of the night after the show on the couch in front of the TV. They didn’t have to leave too early the next morning so they were free to let the post-concert adrenalin carry them through until their heavy eyelids got the better of them. As the night wore on, Andy and Joe retired to their room. Patrick had tried to stay up but eventually fell asleep on the couch, his cap falling over his eyes as he leaned back into the cushions. The blue light from the screen painted the room in feeling of calm, the static from the old television set creating what looked like waves washing across the walls. Pete’s mind was loving the atmosphere and was rattling with lyrics that were itching to get out of his brain and onto paper. He snatched his notebook from beside the couch and began writing down any and all that came to mind.

 

“What are you doing?” She asked quietly from across the couch, gesturing at the pen in his hands.

“Working on some lyrics.” He shrugged, not looking up from the pages as he tried to hold onto the feeling of inspiration.

“Can I see?” His pen stopped mid-sentence as he looked over at her. He didn’t often let people see his lyrics before Patrick had the chance to edit them, to turn his crazy thoughts into things that resembled poetry and music. He was fairly certain people would think he was crazy if he left these things out in the open. Well, crazier than they already thought he was.

“Are you sure?” He asked hesitantly.

“I’ve liked what I’ve heard of you guys, I can’t imagine I’d dislike anything you’ve written.” She answered, leaning forward and holding her hand out for the book. He swallowed hard, in the end deciding that if he was going to be stuck in confined spaces with her for another three months he might as well let her in at least a little bit. Passing the notebook over, he studied her expression as she glanced at the messy words on the page. “What does that say?” She asked after a moment, pointing a word out to him. He leaned forward, squinting through the darkness to try and read his own handwriting.

“Telescopic.” She hummed thoughtfully at his answer. At least he hoped it was thoughtfully, and not in that ‘I should call the nearest mental institute, this guy is off his rocker’ sort of way. Most of what he wrote was just a sentence or two, vague ideas that sounded good in his head and words that sounded interesting when strung together. Patrick was the one who was able to sculpt them together and turn them into a coherent song.

“I like this bit, the ‘I’m a loose screw from a complete machine’ idea. It kind of rhymes with the bit… where was it…” She flipped back a page in his book. “The half-doomed, semi-sweet one you’ve written here.”

“Machine and sweet don’t rhyme.” He frowned.

“They kinda do? Maybe not. Maybe I’m just imagining it.” She laughed quietly, handing him back the book. He ran the words through his head a few times, nodding to himself as he drew a star next to each line. Pete ended up giving up his mattress in favour of staying on the couch with Patrick, who nobody had the heart to wake up and ask to move.

“After the gas station incident, I get the feeling you might not want to sleep with me.” He smirked with a wink. She rolled her eyes, thanking him briefly before heading to bed.

 

**Sunday, 11 th of March, 2007 - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania**

The following morning, Patrick awoke to find Pete’s foot pressed into his back as he snored loudly. He glanced over the back of the couch to see Joe sitting at the small dining table, sipping a coffee.

“Ugh, why did you guys let me sleep out here?” He groaned, moving away from Pete and stretching out his back.

“I didn’t. When Andy and I went to bed you were still awake. You probably should’ve done the same if you wanted a decent sleep.” The guitarist answered, gesturing to the pot of steaming black liquid on the counter. Patrick rubbed his eyes tiredly as he poured himself a cup.

“Oh… Where is he?” He mumbled, taking a long sip of the cup of pure warmth in his hands.

“Out getting doughnuts or something for breakfast.” Joe shrugged as Patrick took a seat opposite him. “So, how are you finding our new…” He paused for a moment, trying to find the best word, “companion?” He asked as he swirled the liquid in his cup.

“She’s nice. And I’m pretty sure Pete is finally not out for blood since the karaoke night. I think we should be fine for the rest of the tour.” He nodded, staring into his drink. Joe hummed quietly, urging him to continue. Patrick looked up at him in confusion, “What?”

“Is that all… _Pat_?” Joe asked, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face.

“Patrick.” He instantly corrected with a frown. The guitarist laughed silently to himself as the front door swung open and Andy stepped in with an armful of bags. The smell of fresh baked goods wafted into the room with him, instantly stirring the comatose body on the couch.

 

As soon as food was on the table, the house was lively and awake. The five of them sat around the circular table sitting in the kitchen, munching away at the food Andy had graciously brought back for them. The coffee and baked goods were slowly bringing Patrick out of his half-asleep stupor, but for the moment to try and regain some shut-eye, he ate his bagel with his eyes firmly pulled shut. Light had begun filling the room now, basking the room in a soft, morning glow. Patrick pulled his cap as low as his glasses would permit to try and block the sunshine out. Pete looked out of their second story window at the trees rustling in the wind, the small figures that he assumed were birds jumping from branch to branch, feeling an unusual bout of calm for a brief moment. But it was gone as quickly as it came and he was back to his usual, on-edge self.

“When should we hit the road?” Pete asked around a mouthful of pastry, fingers rapping on the wood impatiently.

“It’s only three hours to Washington, your show doesn’t start until eight. We should have plenty of time.” She spoke, pushing her now empty plate into the middle of the table.

“When do you think we should leave, Pat?” Joe asked, kicking him in the shin under the table. He grunted in response, scrunching up his eyes and mumbling ‘Patrick’ quietly to himself as he continued eating.

“I wouldn’t mind getting there a bit early. I’ve heard good things about the DC venue and I wouldn’t mind having time to check it out.” Andy nodded, starting to pick up the empty plates. “If we could leave soon that would be cool. I can drive.”

 

After an attempt at cleaning the apartment, they started dragging the stuff they had brought up with them back out to the bus. The other reason they had wanted to rent this place for a few nights was that it had a secured parking garage, which meant they could leave most of their equipment where it was without having to worry about it being stolen. Normally the routine was to unload and reload at every place they crashed. Joe returned the keys to the small box they had retrieved them from when they arrived, locking the combination padlock once he had shut the door. He started back up the stairs, instantly hearing the commotion from where they’d stayed.

“You take that back!” He heard Pete shout. As he moved into the doorway he could see an angry Pete glaring daggers at a hysterically laughing Andy.

“Guys, guys, break it up. It’s not a big deal.” She tried to get the bassist away, tugging on his hoodie sleeve.

“Not a _big deal_?” Pete shot back at her.

“What did he do?” Joe asked in amusement. Andy turned to him with a grin plastered on his face, about to explain the situation before Pete interrupted.

“He said Terminator was a terrible movie!” He yelled, clearly enraged. Patrick eventually walked over, placing a hand on Pete’s shoulder.

“Come on, man. Not everyone can like the same movies as you.” He said in an attempt at a soothing voice, pulling his friend away. He sat Pete down on the couch, saying a few quiet words to him before continuing to pack up. Andy grabbed the last of his bags, making his way downstairs to the bus.

“Can you grab my guitar, Pat?” Joe asked, leaning against the front door frame and watching the singer carefully.

“Patrick.” He shouted back over his shoulder, but grabbed the bag anyway and slung it over his shoulder. Joe rolled his eyes, wondering how many times he could say it before Patrick finally got the hint.

 

Once Pete had finally calmed down enough to join Andy in the front seat of the bus, they set off on the drive to Washington. The argument from earlier seemed long forgotten as they excitedly debated over the music playing on the local radio station. Joe had decided to take the whole middle bench to himself so that he could lie down, not that the other two passengers minded much anyway. Patrick was growing to like the additional company and found himself easily lost in conversation. Even she was surprised at how well they were getting along and how much she found herself wanting to hang out with him. But three whole hours of talking was a lot, and eventually they fell into a comfortable silence.

“Pat, can you pass me my iPod?” She asked after a while, pointing at the bag at his feet. He fished around in the bag, finally finding the small piece of metal and handing it to her. When he looked up, Joe was sitting up and shooting him a look from the bench in front of him. He stared back at the guitarist in confusion, until it clicked.


	5. Your Head Can Be Your Prison

**Sunday, 11 th of March, 2007 - Washington DC**

The Washington show had gone even better than expected. The manager of the venue had offered them a bunch of pyrotechnic items left behind by a band a few years ago that were nearly past their use by dates, which Pete _gladly_ took and worked out how to use in and around their songs. He had been told that they couldn’t release the stack of fireworks he’d been given inside, as it was a roofed venue, but he ran away with those too, claiming he had a plan. The crowd went wild for the new effects. Patrick found himself meeting the gaze of the girl standing side stage during their set, and every time he automatically returned her smile he wondered when that had become routine for him. He found himself second guessing all their interactions, from the pre-show pep talk to the post-show grins. Was he friendlier with her than with other people..? Their show ended with a quite literal bang when they released the confetti cannons the venue had also provided. However, it nagged at the back of Andy’s mind that he was fairly certain he hadn’t heard the explosion of those fireworks during their show at all. After a small after party with some people from the local branch of their label who had come down to meet up with them, and also a few of the staff from the venue, they retired to their cheap motel for the night. Pete was still fuelled on adrenalin and a little bit of after party regulated watered down alcohol, so he convinced Patrick to stay up with him and work on a few songs. They had jammed for a bit, working on some new melodies that had been stuck in the singer’s head, until whoever was in the room above them punched their floor so hard that dust fell from the ceiling. When they saw that the clock was nearly at two in the morning, they figured it might be best to give the instruments a rest for the night and work on lyrics instead.

 

“Dude, you’ve got so many pages here.” Patrick said in awe as he flipped through the book.

“I was feeling inspired one night, it’s not that much.” Pete shrugged modestly. “Do you think any are song-worthy?” He asked, leaning back in the small desk chair provided by the motel. Almost all motel rooms were the same, no matter what state you were in, or even what country from the few that they had seen. There would always be: a bed, a desk that was too small to ever actually get any work done on it, a shitty desk chair that always felt like it was on the brink of collapse, a phone by the bedside and a TV at the foot if you were lucky. He placed his feet on the wobbly table in front of him, watching as the singer’s eyes flew over the paper.

“’I’d promise you anything for another shot at love’, I like that.” Patrick nodded, tapping his pen next to the lyric. Pete frowned slightly, leaning forward to look at the pages.

“That says ‘life’, not ‘love’. Also, that is not _at all_ the feeling I was aiming for with that line. I know you’re one of those romantic types,” He drawled the words like it was foreign concept to him, “and all, but not every song has to be a love song.” He smiled, shoving his friend lightly in the shoulder. At a second glance he could make the word out a lot easier. Had his mind changed it the first time just to say what he wanted it to? He shook his head, trying to get rid of the feeling sitting in the back of his mind.

“Well, nobody wants to hear me sing about tragedy.” He shrugged, handing the notebook back.

“That is exactly what everyone has been paying to hear for years, man.” Pete laughed loudly, placing the book back into his duffel bag. A yawn escaped his lips as he caught sight of the clock again. “Are we driving tomorrow?”

“Andy drove us here so I’d say we’re up next, yeah.” Patrick confirmed, kicking his shoes off next to the bed. The bassist nodded tiredly, sleep finally catching up with him as he clambered off the old, shaky chair and onto the old, uncomfortable motel mattress.

**Monday, 12 th of March, 2007 - Washington DC**

They awoke early enough the next morning to enjoy the complimentary breakfast the motel provided. But they were disappointed to see that by “breakfast” what they had meant was “a single box of rice crispies and some half-clean bowls.” But free food was good food, so they ate it regardless. As they were packing up their belongings, they realised that Pete had conveniently gone missing at the exact time that they had planned to bring their stuff back out to the bus. The four of them packed up their own things, each stealing a glance at the pile of Pete’s belongings that were untouched. Nobody overly wanted to touch his things, for fear of what he’d do to them for messing with his stuff and also for fear of how long it had been since he cleaned any of his clothes.

“Ugh, where is he? He has my lighter.” Joe complained, stuffing his clothes back into his bag.

“Your what?” Andy asked.

“My lighter, I don’t even know why he needed it but he claimed it was important.” He explained with a huff.

“I didn’t know you-” Patrick started, before seeing the blood drain from Andy’s face. “What? What’s wrong?”

“We need to find him.” The drummer rushed out, dropping his bag and jogging into the hallway with a fearful expression.

 

The four of them scoured the motel, eventually finding a conference room stuffed in the back corner that had once been locked and was now jimmied open. They walked in to see Pete at the far side, setting up a line of fireworks.

“Oh my God. Pete, no!” She shouted, sprinting over to grab the lighter off him. She could hear Joe laughing from behind her.

“They’re _fireworks_! I wasn’t going to _not_ use them.” He instantly argued, trying to light the fuse before she could reach him.

“We are in an _enclosed room_!”

“I’m sure it will be fine.” He laughed, watching as small string took light. His eyes glowed with excitement as he threw it a few feet in front of him and slipped the lighter back into his pocket. He took a few steps back from the explosive, catching her shoulder and yanking her back as she went to run past him to diffuse it. “Shhhhh, it’s too late. Just watch.” He soothed, pulling her into his side and grinning like a madman as he watched the fuse disappear. Patrick felt a twinge of jealousy in his chest as he looked at the two people in front of him. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it in favour of taking cover. The three men at the back of the room scrambled to hide behind a large desk as the explosions filled the room. Flashes of green, blue and red were blindingly bright for the two people right in front of the action, and she was certain she would be deaf in the morning with how loud each and every bang was. Pete watched with childish glee as they flew around him, it was exactly what he had wanted and it looked amazing. Ideally, he hadn’t wanted to put his friends in danger, but part of him was glad they got to see it too. Thankfully the two of them were close enough to avoid most of the carnage, but each bright light was soon extinguished when it hit the opposing wall with a resounding crash. Even from behind a table the rest of the band had to admit, it did look kind of cool.

 

Thankfully for them, it was assumed by hotel staff that what they were hearing was gunshots and not fireworks, so they were able to make a break for it before anyone caught them. The burn marks all over the conference room walls made it look like there had been a firefight in there, but overall the damage was surprisingly low. Only one window had broken and all of the furniture was blackened, but intact. That didn’t stop them from wanting to leave before they got caught though and leaving before anyone could question them about the incident.

“Should you not tell the label what he did?” Joe asked curiously after a car ride of mostly silence, turning around in his seat to face her.

“I’d rather they don’t find out I allowed him to set off fireworks in a motel.” She sighed, knowing that the consequences would probably be just as bad for her as they would be for him if they found out. She was meant to be keeping him in check, not letting him explode things. Pete grinned over his shoulder at her.

“Are you saying I got away with it?” He asked from the passenger seat.

“No, Pete. I’m saying that you’re lucky I’d rather save my own ass than punish yours.” She sent him a sarcastic smile.

“You love me.”

 

They soon arrived at a midway stop on the edge of DC where they planned to spend the night before heading to Georgia. It was just a friend of a friend’s house, but it was still better than the motel. “I might split a room with Andy tonight, if that’s okay.” Patrick spoke up as they entered, glancing down the hallway at the bedrooms.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, that’s fine.” Pete nodded, instantly feeling the tightness in his chest. If it were anyone else he would have just assumed the worst, but he had learned with Patrick that asking wasn’t going to hurt him. He took a few steps to close the distance between him and lower his voice, “I didn’t… do anything wrong, did I?” He questioned anxiously.

“No!” His friend instantly looked back at him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I mean, other than letting off fireworks?” He chuckled, “No, it’s nothing to do with you, Pete. I just haven’t had a chance to catch up with him in a while. Thought maybe we could have some…” He racked his brain for an answer that seemed plausible, “drummer talk.”

“But Patrick, you don’t play drums. Why do you-” Andy started from behind them.

“Hey, I was the drummer in this band before you were, kid!” He interrupted, pointing a finger at the taller man.

“I’m older than you?” He laughed as Patrick walking past him.

“Not in Fall Out Boy years!” He sung out, moving into his accommodation for the night.

 

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Andy asked as he walked in, shutting the door behind him. He took a seat by the nearby window and kicked his feet up on the desk in front of him.

“Andy, you’re smart. I need help… I did a dumb thing.” Patrick sighed, taking his cap off and running a hand through his hair.

“I’m sure it can’t be _that_ dumb.” He assured, watching as Patrick picked at the side of his fingernail anxiously.

“I dunno, man. I think having feelings for someone who’s being paid to be here purely to tell off one of our band mates is pretty stupid.” He admitted quietly, glancing to the door to double check that it was shut. It had been eating him from the inside out since he’d realised.

“Ah, yeah.” He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “That’s not too smart.” There was a beat of silence between the two of them. “Just ask her out.” The drummer eventually offered.

“I can’t _just ask her out_. What if she says no?” Patrick looked up at him, concern etched into his features.

“Then it’s awkward for a couple of weeks until we get home and we ask for someone else to keep an eye on Pete.” He suggested with a shrug.

“No, Andy. She works for the label. She could cost us our _contract_.” He tried to get across how serious he felt this was, but the look on Andy’s face didn’t give him the impression that he had done a good job of that. He had a feeling like maybe all this worry was only in his head, but he wasn’t going to jeopardise the band just for a girl. Andy scratched his beard thoughtfully before speaking.

“I don’t think she’d do that.”

“But she _might_.” Patrick countered.

“It’s highly unlikely, ‘Trick.” He tried to argue.

“But _she might._ ” He repeated. Andy could see from the panicked look in his eyes that there was no budging him on the topic.

“Then what are you going to do?” He finally asked. “You can’t just avoid her.”

“Maybe I can try.”


	6. Maybe He Won’t Find Out What I Know

**Wednesday, 14th of March, 2007 – Atlanta, Georgia**

 

Two days had passed with Patrick mostly keeping to himself. However, he found it hard to only ignore one person, so he just ended up isolating himself from everyone. At the start he had found himself to be quite productive. He'd managed to get some reading done on a book he'd had stuffed in his bag for months, and he'd listened to a few albums that he hadn't had the time to listen to, but being alone wasn't overly enjoyable, particularly when he could hear his friends having fun in the room over. So, he ended up giving up on sitting in his rooms or on the bus by himself all the time when they weren't playing. He still tried his best to not actively engage in conversation with her, but once he was back with the group he was finding it hard.

 

"I'm telling you, bassists carry the whole band looks-wise." Pete stated, lounging back into the couch in the dressing room before their show.

"You've got it all wrong, Pete." She shook her head, staring at the bassist from the opposite side of the table.

He gasped dramatically. "I'm hurt." placing a hand over his heart for effect, "Are you saying you don't think I'm drop dead gorgeous?"

"Lead singers are where it's at." She nodded firmly. Patrick instantly felt his face burning up and busied himself looking at his phone.

"Really, now? Name _one_." He challenged, leaning forward over the coffee table in between the two couches they were crammed into.

"Billie Joe from Green Day? Tom DeLonge from Blink?" She started listing, ticking them off on her fingers as she went.

"I like that you're _also_ listing lead guitarists." Joe chuckled quietly.

"Even that band you guys signed recently... the disco guys?" She continued.

"Panic?" Pete offered, taking a sip of the energy drink in his hand.

"Yeah, them. The singer in that is definitely the cute one."

"This is complete drummer erasure!" Andy shouted, slamming his fist on the table.

 

They were soon snapped out of their argument by a knock on the door and a voice telling them they were on in ten minutes. The boys did one final check over themselves before heading in the direction of the stage. Patrick stood at the side, peering around the pillar briefly to examine the size of the crowd was tonight. He found himself taking in deep breaths and trying to forget how many people were out there to listen to him. The pressure of getting everything right at every show always loomed over him, even when he knew a few stuff ups here and there were never noticed by the fans anyway. He was aware that he put too much pressure on himself and had no reason to be scared at this point in their career, but that didn't stop him from taking off his glasses and pulling his cap as low as it would go for most of their shows. If he couldn't see half of the crowd, maybe he could pretend they weren't there. Pete was the only one who shared his stage fright, but he could hide behind his bass and turn away when needed, and didn't always have to sing. When he did he mostly screamed the words anyway. It bothered Patrick a bit that Andy and Joe never shared that feeling, they always seemed at ease when they stepped on stage. He was shaken from his thoughts by a hand landing on his shoulder.

 

"You all right?" She asked, a concerned frown on her face.

"Yeah..." He swallowed hard, feeling like he should probably end the conversation there, but also just wanting to get through tonight without hyperventilating on stage. "Just the usual." He smiled weakly.

"I can't believe you go on stage every night half blind." She sighed, flicking the tip of his hat up so that she could see his eyes. "How do you even play if you can't see your tuner properly? Or your pedals?"

"Muscle memory." He shrugged as he stared back at her.

"Only a _really_ good guitarist could do that." She pointed out.

"You think?" He laughed lightly.

"I _know_." She confirmed, poking him in the chest lightly. "You're great at what you do, Pat." Now that he had been made aware of it, the nickname made his heart skip a beat whenever he heard it. He instantly cursed himself for letting it affect him so easily. The crowd roared from behind him and he spun around, realising he must've missed their cue. "Knock 'em dead." She grinned up at him. He nodded quickly to himself, pulling his hat back down low over his eyes and trying his best to cover the smile he couldn't contain.

 

Their show went great, as it always did. But it was nice for Andy to not have to worry about Pete and fire mixed together while he was playing. Their next show wasn't for another three days and the drive wasn't that long, so they had opted to rent a room each for the following three nights to try and achieve some heavily coveted privacy and sleep. The rooms they had rented were in a hotel, the key difference from a motel being that everything was just slightly nicer and marginally less gross. They had found themselves looking forward to a night of rest on clean sheets. But, as always after their shows, people wanted to party; namely Joe and Pete. They had all agreed to get ready and meet in the lobby for an hour after the show had finished to then scour the town for something to do. As they'd walked into the hotel Patrick had grabbed Andy and asked to talk to him.

 

"What's up?" The drummer asked as they stepped into Patrick's room.

"I'm doing very badly at this..." He made a few vague hand motions in front of himself, trying to think of the words "ignoring her thing." He started as Andy sat down at the foot of the bed.

"I've noticed." He nodded.

"This is bad. She's what got me out on stage tonight. This is a bad idea. I can't be into her." Patrick rambled, scratching at one of his sideburns anxiously and pacing briskly in front of the bed.

"I don't know what to tell you, man. You can't control that sort of thing." He shrugged, taking off his glasses and placing them on the bed next to him. "Why are you even coming to me about all this? Haven't you told Pete?" He asked tiredly before wiping down his face with a towel that he'd accidentally stolen from the venue.

"I can't tell _Pete_!" He scoffed, "He'll tell her straight away!"

"Well then, what's your plan now? Quit the band? Fake your own death?" Andy laughed, throwing the towel at Patrick to make him stop pacing and stand still.

"No, no, nothing like that. I can't go to that level of extreme."

"Did you ever consider that maybe she's into you too?" He said, feeling like maybe the singer was too caught up in his own stress of failure and destroying the band to fathom that things might go well.

Andy's words fell on deaf ears as Patrick continued, "Maybe I should try and find someone else..." He mumbled, "Yeah... Yeah, that could work. I'll try and find a girl tonight." He nodded, half content with his idea.

"You're bad at the hook-up thing Patrick, we know this."

"Well, it's about time I got better at it." He tried to sound confident, but the way his voice wavered betrayed his thoughts.

 

A short cab ride into the city centre later and the five of them found themselves standing in front of the "best club in town", according to their driver anyway. None of them were overly familiar with Atlanta so they had to take his word for it. Patrick had spent the drive over trying to psych himself up to find a girl to chat up. He couldn't remember the last time he actively tried to flirt with someone, but he was pretty certain it hadn't gone great for him. Flirting and one liners were never his strong suit, and sleeping with fans who idolised him had never seemed like a good idea. Pete strolled up to the bouncer at the door, leaning over to say a few words in his ear before they were ushered in. He grinned to himself as he walked up to the bar, always relishing in the perks fame had brought into his life. Instantly someone recognised him and offered to buy him a drink; his smile only grew. Andy weaved his way through the crowd onto the dancefloor, hoping to at least have a good time dancing considering he wouldn't be drinking. Patrick didn't want to risk getting caught up in conversation before his plan could come to fruition, so he fixed the collar of his shirt and made his way to the corner of the room to scope out a potential candidate. After roughly half an hour of chickening out, he finally spotted a brunette from across the room that he thought he might have the guts to speak to.

 

His plan had seemed so great, but now, standing a few feet behind this girl, his mouth ran dry. Before he could even come out with an opener, she turned around to face him. There was a moment of silence as she looked up at him before she smiled broadly.

"Hi! How are you tonight?" She asked, taking a step towards him.

"Uh, good. Yeah, g-good." He nodded, managing a crooked smile in return. "I... ummm..."

"You're Patrick, right?" He was glad she had taken the initiative to start conversation, because he was certainly struggling.

"That's me." He chuckled nervously as he adjusted his glasses. Part of him really wished he could hide behind his hat right now. "You know the band?"

"Yeah, I was at your show tonight. You guys were _really_ good." Her voice came out as more of a purr, placing a hand on his bicep. His eyes glanced down at the contact before coming up to meet hers again.

"You think?" He asked quietly, scratching the back of his neck.

"Definitely! Can I buy you a drink?" He could tell she was trying to win him over, he could see it in the way she was batting her eyelashes and how she was talking, he'd seen it a million times at a million parties with all the girls that tried to charm Joe and Pete. Normally he'd say no, sleeping with fans was a terrible idea, but tonight was different and maybe the drink would give him the lower inhibitions required. He nodded, letting her take his hand and lead him in the direction of the bar.

 

Clubs always seemed to exist in a different time zone to the rest of the world, time seemed to pass slower if you weren't drinking, and a hell of a lot faster if you were. Eventually Andy and Pete had found themselves sitting at a booth in the corner, stuck at the opposing ends of the time spectrum and arguing over when they should go home. Pete had been about to smash his bottle on the floor from the anger of being told to leave early, when a hand caught his arm.

"Hey, let's not make any rash decisions there." She warned as she took the bottle from his hand and placed it back on the table. For once, he didn't put up a fight. The two men shuffled across into the booth, allowing her the space to sit down too. "You guys having a good night?" She asked as she took a seat.

"No." Andy rolled his eyes.

"Yes!" Pete tried to speak over him. She took a look at the crowd around them, eyes eventually falling on Patrick and the girl that was hanging off of him at the bar. Feelings of jealousy instantly stirred in her chest. Jealousy? She frowned at the thought, not used to feeling that way about Patrick. In the end she assumed she must just be feeling left out that her friend was having fun without her.

"Who's that with Pat?" She asked, turning back to the boys. They both tried to spot the girl, but Pete's vision was too blurry and Andy's glasses weren't helping him too much with the flashing lights from the dancefloor spinning across the room. A shrug was all they could offer. 

"Are you _jealous_?" Pete grinned deviously.

"No." She lied simply, not overly wanting to talk about feelings she wasn't certain of herself. "Just wanna make sure you all get back to the hotel in one piece." Andy eyed her curiously, but decided not to say any more about it.

 

Patrick was now a few drinks in at the bar, and feeling suitably tipsy. He felt like maybe, just _maybe_ , he might be able to overcome his usual moral objections and take this girl back to his hotel room. But when she beat him to the punch, his plan came crashing down around him.

"Come on; let's get out of here, Pat." She whispered in his ear. He instantly winced at the name, trying to push aside the feelings that were brought up with it but being unable to.

"It... it's Patrick." He grumbled. Her expression hadn't changed, but as the cogs in his head turned his idea suddenly seemed like a bad plan. "Look, I'm sorry but this isn't gonna work." He shook his head, taking a step back from her presence. She stared up at him in bewilderment.

"What?" She asked, unsure she'd heard him correctly.

"Thanks for a good night, but I've gotta go." He started to turn away but she grabbed his arm, pulling him back to face her. He half expected her to pull him in for a kiss in the hopes of winning him over, but what he was met with was a cocktail splashed in his face. Nodding to himself that he deserved that, he continued on his way out of the bar, steps somewhat stickier than before. He spent a little while trying to find his friends, but soon learned after asking the bartender that they had left without him. A quick text revealed that they had abandoned him be because they expected him to be finding his own way from the club, or in the wise words of Pete:

 

<wnt bk 2 htl thgt u wre gttn sum>

 

He sighed to himself, stepping out muggy Georgia air and hailing himself a cab.


	7. I Could Walk This Fine Line

**Saturday, 17 th of March, 2007 – Orlando, Florida**

They hadn’t been able to find anywhere to sleep after their show in Florida, nobody had any friends this far down South and most motels nearby had been booked out, which meant an uncomfortable night on the bus was in order. After three nights in a private room and a hotel bed, it was a tolerable change but certainly not desired. The bus only comfortably fit them sitting down; sleeping on it required two people to sit in the driver and passenger seats up the front and then the other three people to share the remaining two benches in the back. The boys were fairly used to being forced to huddle up together from their early days of sleeping in cars to get to and from venues on time, so they had said that they would always leave the back bench totally free for their new companion who might not be _as_ comfortable with being spooned in the middle of the night. Patrick had found himself unable to sleep, and surprisingly not because of the snoring of the man next to him who had an arm draped across his mid-section. He stared up at the roof of the bus, trying to work out what his next step was to not fall deeper into this pit of one-sided despair. Avoiding the issue hadn’t worked, distracting himself from his feelings was a no-go due to his own moral dilemmas, what else could he do? Maybe Andy wasn’t too far off the mark. How hard could it be to fake his own death? As his eyes slowly focused on the darkened surroundings, he could see a soft blue light slowly fading in and out against the roof of the bus. He sat up slightly, glancing behind him to see that he was not the only one still awake.

“Hey.” She mumbled quietly, looking up at him from her phone.

“Hi. Can’t sleep?” He whispered. She shook her head in response. He turned around to look in front of him at the sleeping car, figuring he had nothing better to do than clamber over into the back. Patrick was not the most graceful of people, particularly in a cramped vehicle while he was trying to free himself from the vice-like grip of a bassist who hadn’t had any affection in a while. But he managed to get over into the back seat without causing too much noise.

 

He paused for a moment before speaking; making sure that everyone was still asleep. The sounds of Pete’s uninterrupted snoring gave him the impression that he had done a half decent job at being stealthy. “What’s the time?” He asked finally.

“About four in the morning.” She answered, sitting up slightly and moving to have her back pressed into the side of the bus so that she could face him properly. Her eyes looked past him and out into the darkness beyond the window. It looked almost like the light blue hues of sunrise were starting to seep into the skyline, but she knew it was probably just the lights from the city. “Why are you still up?” She sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly. He shrugged, not overly wanting to answer the question in case his lie was caught out. Eventually after a minute or so of silence that implied he should elaborate on that, he made up something that sounded half plausible.

“Just nervous about the shows I guess. You?” He asked back, wanting to quickly get away from his own answer. She studied him for a moment, and he worried she was trying to work out the authenticity of his answer, but she was warring about whether or not to truthfully give her own.

“My brain isn’t liking me right now.” Was the answer she settled on. He frowned at her in the dimly lit backseat.

“What’s wrong? Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked in concern.

“Not really.” She smiled at him. He held her gaze for a while, wanting to press her on the topic in the hopes of being able to help, but deciding to drop it.

 

They hadn’t had much of a chance to talk since the night at the club. Even on days off the band was escorted from interview, to photoshoot, to radio appearance, to anything in between that the label wanted them to do. Their time in Georgia had been non-stop until they had to leave for their show in Florida. Even after the show, the guys had only wanted to sleep so that they could make it to North Carolina early enough to find a bed at a motel near the venue and not deal with sleeping on the bus for another night. “How was your night at the club in the end?” She asked quietly, breaking the silence around them.  

“Oh, it was uh… all right.” He lied, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Mmmm… no, it wasn’t.” She smirked.

“What? It was fine.” He shrugged, breaking their eye contact and looking back into the bus to make sure everyone was still sleeping. The crescendo of snores implied he was still safe.

“You fiddle with your glasses when you’re nervous. So, I’d guess that you’re lying.” Once she had said it, a part of her regretted it because she expected the answer to really be ‘it was amazing’ and then for Patrick to launch into the details because she probed him about it.

“I…” Patrick opened his mouth to try and back up his lie, but he couldn’t think of anything to say and closed it again. “Well, yeah. You got me.” He sighed deeply. She winced slightly, preparing herself for the worst. “It was pretty terrible.” He admitted. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he didn’t continue.

“How did you manage to mess that one up? That girl seemed like a sure thing.” She asked.  Quiet returned to the vehicle as he tried to find the balance between the truth and not spilling his guts right there and then.

“It’s never a good idea to mess around with fans. Trust me on that one. Pete and Joe’s experiences have taught me second-hand that more often than not it ends in a lot more…”

“Effort?” She offered.

“Heartbreak and tragedy is more what I was going for.” He chuckled. “A lot of the fans think that I’m the talent behind the words, they assume that I felt the words they fell in love with and by extension they put all that on me. They want me to be this… tortured soul that they can repair. Which I know Pete gets all the time and he loves it to a degree.” He eyed the foot of the man in question that was sticking up over the back of the bench in front of them. “He loves the girls who think he’s a poet and think that they understand his brain, for a while anyway. Just like Joe loves the girls who think he has amazing skills with his guitar.” He could see the guitarists mop of hair hanging in the space between the passenger and driver’s seat. “But in the end, all these girls want to change them. They want to _fix_ Pete and make him write _happy_ songs about them. They want to be Joe’s one and only and be the one he winks at in the crowd. I’ve seen it a million times; they charm a girl and she thinks she’s special and then gets heartbroken when it turns out she’s not. Then we have a week of damage control and a lifetime of LiveJournal and Myspace posts written about what assholes we are. I don’t like being known for that…” He stared down at his hands, picking a little at the side of his nail. “I’m just _me_. I’m not the lead guitarist, I’m not the mind behind the words. I’m just the means by which they’re broadcast, the shy guy who forces himself on stage for the sake of his friends. I’m the dork behind the spotlight. I’m not the one who breaks hearts.” He finished, shaking his head slightly.

 

She stared at the man opposite her, feeling her heart swell somewhat at his words. Her thoughts raced at all the information he’d just laid out that she was trying to process. For a start: he hadn’t done anything with the girl everyone assumed he went home with and talked about the whole taxi ride back to the hotel. That was an instant load off her mind that she didn’t realise she was carrying. In addition to that, he had also just confessed to not even wanting that lifestyle.

“I-I’m sorry. I was just rambling, don’t mind me-” He spoke, breaking her train of thought.

“No! No, don’t be sorry.” She quickly interjected, not realising the volume of her voice and hearing Pete grunt in response from the bench in front. They both instantly stopped talking, expecting him to have woken up and be about to make his presence known, but his snoring resumed shortly after. She took in a breath, trying to make sure her thoughts were halfway coherent before speaking. “You’re a great guy, Pat, and super talented. You may not write the words, but you sing them better than anyone else could and you help Pete put it all together. You may not be lead guitar, but you compose most of the songs, right?” He nodded. “Exactly. You do a lot for the band, even if it is behind the scenes. They’d fall apart if it weren’t for you holding them together. But the fact that you’re happy to do these things without getting the recognition from the fans, without being the one plastered on magazine covers like Pete is, and without using it as a pickup line, makes you an even _better_ guy.”

“Nah, I’m not that great…” He dismissed, tearing his gaze away and scratching at the hairs resting at the base of his neck.

 

She didn’t know what more she could say to convince him, but she felt the overwhelming need to do just that. Staring at the overly modest boy opposite her, she did the only thing she could think to and tackled him in a hug. A small ‘oof’ escaped his lips at the sudden pressure on him, and it took him a moment to realise what was happening.

“Just accept it, you’re awesome.” She muttered into the side of his chest. He felt his face burn up as he looked down at her and was suddenly very grateful for the fact that it was 4am and it was unlikely she’d be able to see it in on his face. Though, she didn’t seem like she was moving any time soon either. He slowly moved his arms to wrap around her, figuring that it wouldn’t be so bad to return the gesture when his common sense was shouting at him to move back to the other bench. She had said she wasn’t feeling great, he was just being a good friend. Right? It sat at the back of his mind that he was pretty sure this was the first time that they’d actually hugged. She mumbled something in his shirt, her words heavily slurred by what he imagined was tiredness; he thought he heard the word ‘sleep’ mixed in there somewhere. Sighing quietly to nobody in particular, he shuffled slightly to make himself more comfortable, figuring they wouldn’t be moving any time soon. He found his hand resting in the hair falling onto her back, it still smelled of free hotel shampoo. His brain warned him repeatedly that he was walking a very fine line between falling deeper and friendship. But, what else could he do other than resign himself to his fate?

 

**Sunday, 18 th of March, 2007 – Orlando, Florida**

He was awoken with a start the next morning by someone poking him in the face. His eyes fluttered open to see Pete leaning over the bench in front of him, grinning like a maniac. Looking past him slightly he could see that Andy and Joe had already left the bus. The sun was well and truly shining outside and it looked like cars were passing by on the road near where they’d stopped to sleep. What time was it? “Sleep well, ‘Trick?” He all but giggled.

“What?” He asked in confusion as he frowned slightly, his voice hoarse from having not been used in hours. The bassists’ eyes flicked down and he followed his gaze to see that he still had his arm protectively wrapped around her shoulders. His mind raced as their conversations from last night poured back into his mind. “Out.” He glared back at Pete. This time he _did_ giggle as he exited the bus, closing the door quietly behind him and shooting Patrick a wink as he walked in the direction of the nearby roadside diner.

 

When he was sure that Pete wasn’t going to charge back and press his face to the bus window, he nudged her awake, removing his now dead arm from around her. She looked about as tired as he felt as she sat up, blinking a few times and eyes eventually focusing on him.

“Where is everyone?” She asked as she looked at the now empty seats in front of them.

“Already at breakfast I think.” He answered, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “You feeling any better?” He asked as he began trying to clamber back into the front bench so that he could access the door. His brain was starting to drive him crazy and if he didn’t get out of this confined space soon, he’d probably regret it. Witching hour thoughts of being okay with how close they had been were one thing, but in the cold light of day it was once again a terrible idea to try and pursue his feelings. He could see the band’s contract getting ripped up before his eyes, the looks on their faces. She looked at him for a moment, trying to remember what he was talking about.

“Oh, _that_.” She mumbled, remembering having admitted to him that her brain had been working against her last night. “Uh, yeah… I am actually.” The feelings in her chest fluttered uncomfortably and she tried to ignore the fact that she knew exactly why.

“Good.” He nodded, stepping out of the bus into the daylight. He waited for a moment for her to follow suit before throwing a blanket over his Gretsch to hide it from any thieves and locking the bus. They walked into the diner, and he chose to overlook the shit-eating grin plastered on Pete’s face.


	8. When It All Goes to Hell

**Tuesday, 20 th of March, 2007 – Charlotte, North Carolina**

As planned, they had arrived in Charlotte two days earlier than required but had been able to book a motel room with ease. After the terrible night’s sleep everyone had in the bus, the five of them spent most of those two days asleep until they had to get ready for this show. This was fine by Patrick as it was an easy excuse to gain some distance and clear his head. Sound check had a few hiccups with the venue trying to get their microphone volumes level and ended up going overtime, but it was nothing they couldn’t solve. After how long they had spent being holed up in rooms and then only playing half songs to an empty audience, Pete was itching to perform. He wanted to let loose and scream the words that had once burned at the back of his throat before he turned them into a song. During their show, he had got far too invested in screaming said lyrics and spun around only to punch Patrick in what _would_ have been the crotch if his guitar hadn’t protected him. As he collided with the bridge, he felt the skin break and watched as his blood flicked onto the body. Patrick stared down at the bassist who stared up at him wide-eyed, clutching his bleeding fist in his other hand as he kneeled on the stage. The song continued around them as Pete slowly dragged himself to his feet. They were thankful that it was their last song and they didn’t have much more to play before they could leave the stage. While Patrick was happy that he wasn’t writhing on the floor in pain, he wasn’t happy that his guitar didn’t sound the same after that. He couldn’t quite be sure over the rest of the band, but he swore something sounded off.

 

When the set had finished they quickly dispersed, Pete jogging in the direction of the first aid area to get his hand patched up. She had found Patrick sat on top of an amp backstage, trying to tune his guitar unsuccessfully. It had a smudge of blood still smeared on it, standing out against the usually perfectly clean silver. He let out a frustrated sigh. 

“This is my favourite Gretsch…” He muttered with a shake of his head.

“We’ll send it off to get repaired.” She said, trying to reassure him.

“I can’t afford that.” He admitted.

“The label will cover it, you actually being able to play is a part of your contract so that isn’t anything you have to worry about. Pete didn’t mean to do it either, so they’ll be fine with it. We’ll find a music store nearby and send it over to get fixed as soon as they can.” She explained, instantly feeling the pang of sadness in her chest at the crestfallen look on his face.

“It’s still my favourite.” He set it gently on the ground next to his feet.

“Well, you can’t leave it broken.” She pointed out. He looked forlornly at the instrument before looking up at her.

“I guess…” He shrugged as he stood up. “If you could get it fixed that would be nice.” He added as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and started walking off. She grabbed the guitar and started the mission to find the venue owner to ask about nearby music shops that could repair it.

 

It only took her about an hour to find a manager, explain the situation, and get them to send the guitar off the next day. He said it would be about a fortnight until they could have the guitar back. She knew Patrick wouldn’t be happy about the news of being apart from it for two weeks, but it was something at least. She had been about to call the label and let them know what was happening when she collided into someone standing in the middle of the hallway she was walking down.

“Ah, so sorry about that!” She apologised quickly as she took a step back from the man. As she went to step around him, a hand caught her shoulder.

“Whoa, where are you off to in a such a rush, darlin’?” He asked, pulling her back around to face him. She grimaced slightly at the contact, but channelled her inner customer service representative because she had no idea who this guy was.

“Just looking for my friends, was about to make a call to my boss.” She explained, holding her phone up as evidence. The man was a fair bit taller than her, and potentially a fair bit older, and he stank like he’d taken full advantage of the bar at the venue during the show.

“Wouldn’t you rather come get a drink with me?” He asked, attempting what she assumed was _meant_ to be a seductive smile, but it came out looking much more drunken and creepy.

“Thanks, but I’ve really gotta be getting back.” She said, trying to shrug off his tight grip on her arm. But his hand didn’t budge, in fact he tightened his grip and pushed her back into the nearest wall, her phone clattering to the floor from the suddenness of the movement.

“I _said_ , we should go get a drink.” He repeated, moving in close to slur the words into her ear. Her skin crawled, but realisation hit her quickly that she didn’t have a way of getting out. She stared at her phone on the floor, thinking maybe she could try and stand on it and hope it did something, but she knew it was incredibly unlikely. The band’s show had ended over an hour ago, not many staff were left wandering around and she was pretty sure most of the guys would be back at the hotel by now. Maybe Pete was still around if they took a while to patch up his hand..?

 

“Hey!” A familiar voice shouted down the corridor, interrupted her racing mind and thankfully making the guy move back a few inches. She turned to see Patrick standing in the doorway looking angrier than she’d ever seen him before. If they were in a cartoon, she was fairly certain steam would be coming from his ears and he’d be pawing at the ground with his foot like a bull at a gate. “Leave her alone.” He barked as he quickly walked over. He stopped short of the taller man, trying to seem intimidating and to not worry about how he was sure this guy could knock him out in one punch if he wanted to. His glasses were still safely in his pocket from the show, at least that was one less thing that might damage his face.

“Who the fuck are you? Her boyfriend?” He spat back.

“Are you?” Patrick countered as he put a hand on the guys shoulder, pushing him back so that he could place himself between them.

“Well, I was wanting-” The guy tried to turn on a charming smile as he looked back to face her. She was glad to have Patrick’s shoulder to hide behind.

“ _Well_ , I think what _she_ was wanting, isn’t that.” His hands twitched at his sides, wanting so badly to punch this guy for even thinking of taking advantage of her. But he knew if he threw a punch it gave this guy an excuse to hit him back.

“Who do you think you are?” He shouted, moving to stand over Patrick. He tried his best not to let his fear get the better of him, focusing instead on the adrenalin running through his veins to carry him through.

“Who am I?” He let out a low chuckle before pointing at the poster behind the man. “Pretty sure I’m in the band.” He answered with a challenging eyebrow raised. The guy turned slowly to look at the poster behind him, assuming that Patrick was only aiming to distract him and get the first punch. When he saw the promo tour poster behind him his face fell.

“Oh, I… uh…” He turned back to Patrick wide-eyed, trying his best to recover. Once he saw that he had the upper hand, Patrick’s fear dissipated.

“Leave. Before I get you thrown out.” He growled, shoving the guy backwards to finally gain some distance. The guy struggled to keep his balance, but managed to do so for long enough to briskly walk away before security could find him. He stared after him, still feeling the anger pulsing through him but not having anything let it out on. He took a few deep breaths, trying to push it to the back of his mind.

 

As soon as the man was out of sight Patrick spun around, grabbing her shoulders urgently and felt the waves of worry wash over him.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? He was probably a creepy dad of one of the fans. I hope he wasn’t a fan. Do we have fans like that? Is our _music_ like that? God, I hope not. Did he-” His thoughts were pouring out of his mouth faster than he could contain them, and nearly faster than she could understand them.

“Patrick,” He stopped his rambling abruptly. “I’m all right.” She answered, trying to reassure the poor boy before he had an aneurysm from stress. He nodded weakly to himself, looking her over before pulling her into a tight hug.

“Fuck,” He breathed, exasperated from the ordeal. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if…” He shook his head as he pressed it into her shoulder, letting his sentence trail off. The thoughts about what could’ve happened if Patrick hadn’t shown up flooded her mind and she wrapped her arms around him, grateful that he had. They stayed like that for a moment until he moved back. As he looked down at her he couldn’t help but feel if he had been around, he could’ve stopped it sooner. If he was with her the situation never would have happened in the first place, if he had his arm around her no guy would approach her. _Fuck it_. In that moment, he decided to let himself cave. Now he just had to work up the guts to actually tell her. “Come on, we’d better get back.” He sighed.

 

They made their way back to the hotel, Patrick standing as close to her as he could without raising suspicion and instinctively putting himself between her and any other human they happened to pass. Thankfully for him, the short walk was uneventful. Within a few minutes of being back in her room, word had spread of what had happened and the band was crammed into the corner of her hotel room, trying to talk in hushed whispers.

“Guys?” She asked, trying to interrupt them and diffuse the serious tension that had entered the room. They completely ignored her, opting to continue their conversation. She rolled her eyes, excusing herself to go to the bathroom even though nobody was listening anyway. Even through the bathroom door she could hear their terrible attempts at trying to keep quiet and discuss the situation.

“I just think that we need to increase venue security, why was that guy even back there?” She heard Andy ask.

 “ _Venue_ security? No way! _Personal_ security is what we need to be talking about. She needs just as much as we’ve got if she’s going to be touring with us.” Patrick piped up.

“Maybe he was staff?” Joe suggested. “How else would he be there?”

“Oh God, should we be doing background checks on all staff at the shows?” She could hear the worry in Pete’s voice and just picture his expression through the door.

“You know that I can hear you guys?” She shouted from the bathroom. Silence fell over the four of them until she stepped out, all eyes instantly on her. “It’s not a big deal, nothing happened.” She shrugged.

“But something _could have_.” Patrick stressed, taking a step towards her and then catching himself.

“I don’t want a babysitter; I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.” She argued. Pete chuckled under his breath, remembering uttering similar words not long ago. Patrick just stared at her like he’d been told pigs could fly.

“But-”

“How about,” Andy started, his gaze flicking between Patrick and her. “you’re always with at least one of us. In the venues, at least.” He suggested, a plan instantly forming in his mind. They all agreed that for now that seemed like the best solution.

 

 


	9. Let's Get This Party Started

**Monday, 27 th of March, 2007 - Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania **

Andy’s plan went excellently. After the incident in North Carolina, as much as she wouldn’t admit it, her confidence was definitely shaken a bit. Which was fine, because Patrick was always happy to volunteer to keep her company and make sure she got from A to B safely. They ended up spending almost every moment the band wasn’t on stage together. After their show in Pittsburgh, Pete received an invitation to a party in his honour from a guy who claimed they went to high school together. He reckoned that it was high time to celebrate his “old friend” who had made it big. Pete, not being one to turn down free booze and a good time, accepted immediately, much to the rest of the band’s dismay who had hoped for a quiet night after their gig. They walked into the party and immediately Pete was dragged off by a group of people, he was the man of the hour after all. It wasn’t long before Patrick got recognised too, someone tugging at his arm to follow them. He’d said that he was going to hang out with her and Andy for the night, but he shot her an apologetic look before being enveloped in the mass of people. She went to turn to the remaining two members of the band, seeing that Joe had already left. “Right...” she mumbled as she looked up at the bearded drummer.

“You can go party if you want. I don’t drink anyway.” He shrugged.

“No, I gotta make sure you guys-” Andy raised an eyebrow, “That _Pete_ , doesn’t cost the label money.” She clarified.

“Let’s go find some non-alcoholic beverages and a quiet spot then.” He said with a nod towards the back of the house. They quickly found a stashed bottle of lemonade and claimed it as their own. Eventually they found their way outside and made themselves comfy on the two deck chairs facing the expanse of lawn at the back of the house. “So, are you enjoying the tour?” Andy asked as he took a sip from his plastic cup. She shrugged lightly.

“It’s all right; you guys are fun to hang out with and it’s an awesome experience. I kinda miss home though. It must suck for you guys being away constantly.”

“You get used to it. Living in buses is kind of like camping. Having a girlfriend on tour is hard though... I miss my girl back at home.” He sighed deeply, looking up at the sky for a moment. “Pete has the right idea, as much as he may seem like a bit of a prat for it. It’s easier to break-up with your girlfriend before you leave so that you don’t have to worry about it while you’re away.”

“He does that?” She asked in surprise.

“Yep, almost every time; it’s been the same poor girl for a while now actually. Girls always approach you while you’re touring; they always want something from you. And even if you push them back time and time again it just puts a strain on things. I can’t imagine how she feels knowing I have that constantly...” He shook his head, staring deeply into his cup.

“Hey, if she knows anything at all about you, then she’ll know you’re the most loyal and faithful guy ever.” She reassured, placing a hand on his shoulder. He nodded slightly to himself before looking up at her.

“Thanks. I needed that tonight.” He smiled.

 

They chatted for a couple of hours on the back porch, sharing various stories of their home lives, before they were interrupted by Pete’s shouting, which was so loud it could be heard over the music. They waited until they’d heard it a few times before opting to intervene. Upon stepping back inside they saw a drunken Pete stumbling around the lounge room. “Has anyone seen Patrick?” He asked as he grabbed the shoulders of a random stranger.

“I’d better go deal with that.” She excused herself as she weaved through to people to get to the lyricist. “Pete!” She called as she approached him. He spun around and shouted her name in surprise as he pulled her into a tight hug. As quickly as he pulled her in though, he pushed her away, a frantic look in his eyes.

“Have you... have you seen Patrick?” He asked, trying to sound serious but slurring his words.

“I have not. But let’s go find him.” She said, taking his arm to try and keep him balanced.

“Wait,” Andy spoke up as he came over, wrapping an arm around Pete’s shoulders.

“ANDY!” He exclaimed happily. “Have _you_ seen Patrick?” He stumbled slightly on his own feet, even though he was standing still it felt like the floor was moving beneath him. The drummer grabbed his shoulders to steady him.

“I got this one, you go find the other two.” He said as he sat down on the couch, pulling Pete with him so he wouldn’t faceplant into something. She nodded sharply before beginning her search. It wasn’t long before she heard that Joe had found himself a girl and was occupied in an upstairs bedroom. She had hoped that they could leave the party soon but obviously that wasn’t happening now. The search for their lead singer was not quite as easy. Eventually she had resorted to Pete’s methods; asking people if they’d seen the blonde guy with sideburns in the cap. After asking about ten people someone said they thought they saw him leaving out the front door. _Leaving?_ She tried to push open the front door, but it wouldn’t budge. The handle was definitely unlocked, because it turned just fine, but it just wouldn’t push open. She gave an agitated sigh before deciding to walk around the building. After weaving her way through the crowd for a second time she was able to make it to the back door and walk around the side of the house. Eventually as she rounded the corner, she could see what the issue with the door was.

 

“Hey.” Patrick smiled drunkenly from his position on the ground as he leaned against the front door. His cap and glasses laid askew on his head, and his messy hair and ruffled jacket gave her the impression he’d probably been dancing at some point in the night.

“Hey. Interesting choice of spot to sit.” She noted as walked over to stand in front of him.

“I...” He hiccupped slightly, adjusting his glasses in the hopes of seeing better, “I was looking for you and Andy. But I felt sick so I sat down.” He explained as he looked at the bush next to him. She assumed he probably was looking at the aftermath of his nausea. He looked up at her and patted the cement stoop next to where he was sitting, inviting her to join him.

“C’mon, we’ll get you a better spot.” She said as she held her hand out to him. He looked at it for a moment, a little part of him thinking he’d probably feel nervous about this situation if he was sober, but he was far from that now. He grabbed her hand and scrambled to his feet, nearly falling straight back down a few times. “Man, how many did you have?” She asked with a huff as she wrapped an arm around his waist to try and support him.

“I don’t... eight? Maybe?” He questioned himself before burping loudly.

“Charming.” She grumbled as she began walking towards the backyard.

“Always.” He grinned as he slung an arm over her shoulder. She looked up at him and felt herself blush. Despite the fact he was wasted, and the stench of cheap beer on his breath that was far too close to her nose for comfort, their current proximity and the smirk on his face still forced her nerves into overdrive.

 

She walked him around to where she and Andy had been sitting, placing him carefully in one of the deck chairs. She went to remove her arms from around him once she was sure he was stable, but as she did he caught her hand in his. The gesture caught her off guard, and she wasn’t entirely sure if she should take her hand back or not. The butterflies swirling in her stomach suggested maybe it was okay. She looked down at him to see his eyes had slipped shut, but he was smiling sweetly. “Thanks.” He mumbled as he took off his hat and placed it in is lap.

“It’s no problem, I’m meant to be here to look after you guys.” She explained with a shrug.

“No, you don’t...” he started as he opened his eyes to look at her. He stared at her for a while, trying to formulate the words to get across what he wanted to thank her for. He wanted to thank her for the late nights on the bus, the jokes on the way to interviews, the motivation before shows. But his mouth went dry. Pete was always the one who was good with that stuff, not him. “Thanks.” He repeated as he squeezed her hand lightly for emphasis. She nodded at him, still unsure what to do. Eventually she sat down in the chair next to him, letting their hands fall between them. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad between her and Patrick… But that was a thought for another time, when he wasn’t completely wasted. She pulled her phone out of her pocket with her free hand and texted Andy that she’d found the two missing band members and she had one of them on the porch. She looked over to Patrick to see that he had fallen asleep, mouth half open as he leaned into his shoulder, his hand still tightly gripping hers.

 

Andy eventually made his way outside too, a drunken Pete in tow. He looked at their hands for a moment before shooting her a questioning look; she opted to ignore it. It wasn’t much of an issue anyway because as soon as Pete stepped outside, Patrick was wide awake.

“PATRICK!” He shouted with a grin as he saw his friend. The singer awoke with a start, his hands instantly moving to clutch his hat.

“What??” He asked in surprise as his eyes darted around the group.

“I’ve been looking for you all night!” Pete said as he yanked him up out of the chair into a hug. “Where have you been, buddy?” The quick movement instantly made Patrick’s nausea return in full swing.

“Pete, I... I’m gonna hurl.” He choked out. Pete instantly let go as Patrick leaned next to him and threw up into another unsuspecting shrub. He remained kneeled over for a moment, trying to regain his breath.

“Here.” Andy offered as he held out a bottle of water. Patrick nodded as thanks before taking it and sitting (half falling) down on the deck next to where he’d thrown up. She now understood exactly how the door scenario had happened. Pete looked at his friend sadly for a moment, before sitting on the deck next to him.

“Sorry.” He mumbled as he leaned into Patrick.

“S’not your fault.” He slurred as he rested his head on Pete’s shoulder.

 

“Why were you trying to find me?” Patrick asked as he looked up at the mop of straightened black hair above him, trying to get his eyes to focus enough so that he could see clearly. Pete thought about this for a long moment, trying to remember why he had been asking everyone where Patrick was.

“Oh! Because… because I wanted to tell you I want to write a song about you!” He remembered, suddenly beaming with excitement at the thought.

“About _me_? Why?” He frowned.

“Because you’re _amazing_.” Pete pulled back from leaning on his friend so that he could grab his shoulders and face him. “You’re so great. You’re nice to everyone, and… and…” He started to tear up slightly. “Everyone should be more like my buddy Patrick.” His voice cracked on the ‘trick’ before he pulled him into another hug. Patrick was thoroughly overwhelmed by the gesture, and he was an emotional person at the best of times, let alone after half a bottle of vodka.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” He whimpered, tearing up himself as he hugged Pete back. Andy rolled his eyes before looking over to her confused expression at the drunken front-men hugging on the ground.

“More than half of the parties we go to end like this, he’s yet to write the song.” He explained as he sat on a chair, waiting for them to get it out of their systems. The two of them were close to full-blown bawling at this point, exchanging drunken ‘I love you’s with their best attempts at serious expressions. “Where’s Joe?” Andy finally asked.

“Upstairs with a girl.” She answered.

“Ah.” He nodded in understanding, wondering how long he’d already been gone for. He checked his watch, seeing it was close to midnight and contemplating their early morning interview. The lovesick drunkards on the ground would need as much sleep as they could get if they were going to wake up in time for it. “I’d better go retrieve him.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Well, I wouldn’t expect _you_ to. Nobody wants to see that.” He chuckled as he walked back inside.

 

Eventually Patrick and Pete stopped trying to out-do one another with compliments and sat quietly, staring out at the yard. Their backs leant against the siding of the house, the cool radiating from it and the cement beneath them easing the beginnings of their hangovers.

“Hey,” Pete called. She looked over to meet his gaze. “come sit with us.” He said, gesturing to the spot next to him that was awfully close to the still fresh vomit.

“I think I’m good.” She laughed, shaking her head. He looked next to him, seeing why she’d declined his offer.

“Well, come sit next to Patrick then.” He suggested. The singer looked up at her hopefully at the mention of his name. She knew that either Pete would continue asking her until she eventually sat with them, or the two of them would never let her hear the end of it on the car ride home, so she gave up and sat down next to him. They sat in comfortable silence, watching the trees at the back of the yard sway in the wind. It wasn’t quite past winter weather yet and the air still carried a bit of frost to it. Not that the two half-asleep men next to her felt that over the alcohol buzzing in their system. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to conserve what warmth she had through her too old, too thin hoodie. Sitting outside in the cold hadn’t been something she expected to happen tonight and she hadn’t exactly layered up to prepare. Patrick saw the movement out of the corner of his eye, and wanted to offer his jacket but felt like he might throw up again if he moved too much. Leaning against her to transfer some of his warmth seemed like the best solution. He smiled slightly to himself when she didn’t object. He and Pete fell asleep shortly after.

“You joined them?” Andy asked as he stepped outside, dragging Joe behind him by the sleeve of his jacket.

“They asked me to.” She answered as she nudged the two of them awake. He dreaded the day when they finally convinced her to drink with them, he could already tell that if she caved when she was sober, she was quickly going to fall victim to their drunken antics.

 

The party had started dying down by the time they finally got organised enough to head back to the hotel. As they tried to lead the two drunken boys through the house Pete grabbed a random lamp from a coffee table.

“I want this.” He slurred, grinning to himself.

“No, Pete.” She frowned, trying to take it off him.

“Yes, Pete.” He nodded.

“It’s a nice lamp.” Patrick nodded in approval.

“ _Patrick_ ,” She scolded. “don’t encourage him.” He pouted sadly before letting Andy push him out of the door. “Drop it.” She turned back to Pete. Instantly she regretted her choice of words, because when he registered what she’d said he smirked deviously.

“All right then.” He shrugged, letting the lamp smash to the floor.

“God dammit…” She sighed.

“Well, you said-”

“I know what I said!” She barked, Joe grabbed Pete’s hoodie before he ended up making matters worse and dragged him into the front yard. She slipped a twenty dollar note under the notepad at the front door and wrote a quick message apologising for the damage.

 

They all crammed into the car, waiting for a few moments for it to roar to life considering the cold weather. Andy pulled out onto the road, hoping for a quiet trip back to the hotel. “Tonight was fun,” Pete started, dragging out the last word for emphasis. “Did you guys have fun?”

“It was the _best_.” Patrick mumbled, nodding softly.

“ _I_ had a great night-” Joe started as he moved to turn around and face his friends in the back seat. Andy placed his hand on the guitarists shoulder, shoving him back into his seat.

“Yes, we all know you got laid. Don’t brag.”

“It’s not my fault nobody else is getting any.” He shrugged. Andy rolled his eyes.

“Hey! I could’ve if I wanted to!” Pete argued, leaning forward over the centre console. “I was just busy.”

“With what?” Joe countered. Pete mumbled something to himself about being too focused on the tour and sat back in his seat. “And what about you, ‘Trick? I saw that girl hanging off your arm in the lounge room before I went upstairs.” He asked, glancing in the rear-view mirror. She tried her best to ignore the mental images that flooded her mind and glanced out the window at the passing roadside.

Patrick just shrugged lazily, “Wasn’t feeling it.”

“Wasn’t feeling it?” Joe repeated.

“He’s totally super into some girl and he won’t tell me who.” Pete added. Patrick quickly leaned over and punched him in the arm.

“Shut the hell up.” He hissed.

“Aw, man… it’s totally that girl at the record shop down the road from you, isn’t it?” Joe asked as he clicked his tongue in disapproval. “I knew you’d get all hung up on her when she gave you a discount for being cute.” Patrick pulled his cap down over his eyes and continued the journey in silence.

 

**Tuesday, 28 th of March, 2007 - Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania **

The next morning, she took it upon herself to go and fetch coffees for the guys, deciding that at least two of them would _definitely_ require one to function. She knew her job wasn’t to get them to interviews on time, or to be a personal assistant, but she _did_ still work for the label and knew it was in her best interests to keep them, and the band, happy. Also from the perspective of feeling like a friend to them, she thought they’d appreciate it. By the time she arrived back at the hotel lobby the four of them were sitting around a small coffee table waiting for her. Pete had dark sunglasses over his eyes, trying his best to block out as much of the noise and light from outside the hotel as he could. He nodded ever so slightly as he took his coffee, worried that if he exerted any more energy than the bare minimum that he’d pass out. Patrick had a hat pulled down as low as he could over his glasses for much the same purpose as Pete’s sunnies.

“Thanks.” Patrick croaked hoarsely as he took the drink from her, she could tell his sickness hadn’t ended yet by how pale he looked. Andy and Joe seemed perfectly fine, the former refusing the coffee and telling her to drink it instead. Once the two walking hangovers had decided they were stable enough to get into a moving vehicle without throwing up in it, they set off to the interview.


	10. We Don't Fight Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This entire story (yep, the whole. damn. thing.) was inspired by this minute and a half long Fall Out Boy interview below and me thinking "I bet he would be mortified if it turned out to actually be a girl." https://youtu.be/x6fG9fh4lMk Anyway.

**Friday, 30 th of March, 2007 – Cincinnati, Ohio**

They walked down the narrow hotel hallway, her trailing behind Pete and Patrick but in front of Andy and Joe. “You guys have an interview with…” She pulled her phone out of her pocket to check the name she had written down “Rage? I think? Well, they didn’t call it an interview; I think you might just be talking about stuff.”

“Stuff?” Joe asked with an eyebrow raised.

“I dunno, Chicago and punk music and things.” She suggested with a shrug. Andy laughed lightly to himself, wondering why as a band they were so frequently derived down to only two topics. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked him about a different genre. “They haven’t given you a prompt or question to open with so I guess you can just say whatever you want.”

“That’s an unwise thing to tell us.” Pete gave a dark chuckle, already trying to work out what mayhem he could create.

“If you guys don’t do what they want, it’s only their own fault. They’re a music TV show so maybe hang around that sort of theme.”

They walked into the hotel room where they were supposed to be meeting the representative from the station; as per usual it was under furnished but trying to be homely in that all-too-familiar hotel way. A guy was sitting on a nearby arm chair smoking a cigarette, donned in a worn-out suit as he flipped through some paperwork. He stood up to greet the boys when they came in before gesturing for them to sit on the couch. They shared a collective look of confusion before cramming themselves into the considerably small leather three-seater. Patrick adjusted his cap and slipped his glasses into his pocket, trying to maintain a consistent image for the band. She excused herself for a moment, deciding it would be a decent time to check in with her manager while they were occupied; Pete surely couldn’t cause _that_ much trouble while under surveillance and trapped in that couch they all barely fit in.

 

The rep handed them a list of songs before butting out his cigarette. Andy could feel the smell sitting at the back of his throat, glad that it would finally start to dissipate. “This here is a list of clips we can play during the show, if any strike your fancy, feel free to talk about them and we’ll play your interview before that song. We’ll just keep the camera rolling the whole time you guys are here and cut out the bits we need.” He explained as he began fiddling with the equipment.

“Are we like… announcing them?” Patrick asked in confusion. The guy nodded before hitting record and giving them a thumbs-up. One name on the list caught his attention and he was reminded of when he first heard it, so he decided to roll with that. “So, this next song, um, I… remember being in fifth grade and a friend of mine, um, like…” He tried his best to not stuff up telling the story, but interviews were harder when you weren’t asked questions and were just expected to talk. He was never good at talking at the best of times, let alone when he knew people would be seeing it and analysing it over and over. “Taking me under-under the table, the teacher wasn’t watching-”

“Making out with him” Pete interrupted with a chuckle.       

“Shut up.” Patrick instantly countered, wanting none of Pete’s crap today.

“I was in high school then, man.” Andy chipped in as he leaned forward, totally ignoring Pete’s comment.

“Yeah, okay.” He said dismissively, trying to continue the story.

“These two dudes kissed.” Pete added. Joe was trying his best not to laugh as he knew laughing would only made Pete worse, and he could see Patrick’s agitation building.       

“You were a baby…” Andy mused, leaning back in his chair as he ran off with that train of thought. He often forgot that Joe and Patrick were so much younger than himself and Pete. 

“All right, finish the story, you kissed the dude and then what happened?” Pete gestured back to Patrick with a playful smile, who only shook his head in response. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration before continuing.

“And bein’ like… bein’ like… ‘some-day you’re gonna meet this dude, Pete Wentz, and he’s gonna be a total _ass_.’” Patrick said, smiling to himself at the dig at his friend. “‘But don’t worry, this band is so cool.’ And he put on these headphones and played this thing for me, and it was _awesome_. And it was Green day’s basket case.” He said as he finished the story. The man nodded from behind the camera, clearly happy enough at the content he’d filmed.

 

They talked for a bit about how great the music video was for the song as she slipped back into the room. Everyone but Andy was too invested in their conversation to notice her presence, he flashed her a smile as she walked over to them. She slowly moved her way behind the couch, trying her best not to disturb their interview. Her manager had told her to ask Patrick when he wanted to come and pick up his repaired Gretsch that had been sent to a nearby music store in Ohio, and she knew he wouldn’t want to wait to hear that it was finally ready. He had complained constantly at the last few shows because he wasn’t able to use it. The band took a second look at the sheet of songs on the table in front of them, trying to pick another. Joe leaned forward and pointed at one on the page before sitting back, giving her a small smile as he saw her. She was about to tap Patrick on the back but he started talking. “So…” She figured it was probably best to wait until after they were done and went to shuffle back from behind the couch to the side of the room. Pete grabbed her wrist with a smirk as she was about to move away, stopping in her in tracks, before he lightly dragged her fingers down Patrick’s back. “being from Chicago, um…” He paused, swallowing hard. She rolled her eyes at Pete’s antics, feeling Patrick tense up under the contact. “there aren’t a lot of bands, that uh…” He pulled her hand down to the small of his back, moving it to draw lazy circles. “we got to look up to and I think someone’s touching my back right now.” He rushed out the last part as he bit down on his lip for a moment, Joe sniggered next to him as he glanced at Pete’s grip on her wrist. “It’s really distracting.” He apologised to the camera.

“No, it’s a hot girl.” Pete replied as he looked up at her and winked. She wondered if he remembered calling her jealous in the bar that night, or was just being annoying in general.

“But I’m not gonna look.” Patrick continued, ignoring Pete as he shook his head lightly. The two uncomfortable parties tried their best not to give Pete the reaction they knew he wanted.

“No, it’s a hot girl in the interview.” Pete repeated, continuing to move her hand.

“’Cause I know it’s not a hot girl.” He kept going, trying to ignore whatever he assumed Pete was doing.

“Does it feel like a hot girl? Kinda?” She felt herself blush and tried to move her hand out of Pete’s grasp unsuccessfully.

“N-not really…” He stammered. At this point, Joe couldn’t hold his laughter in anymore.

“Aw c’mon.” He pressed as he practically yanked her hand to be at the waistline of his pants. Her eyes widened for a moment before her inner embarrassment took over and she pulled her hand away from the bassist.

“Oh… gross.” Patrick shuddered, making a mental note to think of a way to pay Pete back for this.

 

“All right, so, um… being from-” He tried to start again.

“I think he was kinda into it for a second.” Pete laughed, looking over his shoulder at her. She shook her head at him before sticking her tongue out. Just once she wished that Pete wouldn’t try and cause drama, particularly in interviews when they were being recorded. The label hadn’t wanted her to be in any of their promotional material.

“Not for a second.” Patrick defended. She couldn’t help but feel a little hurt by the answer, but she shrugged it off with the knowledge that Patrick was unaware it was even her doing it. She leaned back on the wall until they’d finished the interview and she could excuse herself without ruining their shot.

“He thought a hot girl materialised out of the wall. He’s like ‘aw, maybe.’ ” Pete turned his attention back to his friend, grinning madly.

“Just maybe! That’s my best chance!” He laughed, turning around to look at Pete and suddenly meeting her gaze. He let out a surprised squeak, unaware that she’d been there the whole time. She gave him a sheepish smile as he felt his stomach drop. He suddenly realised it had not been Pete touching him and everything he had just said flooded back into his mind. _Oh, no_ …

“Maybe Harry Potter is real.” Pete continued to joke. Patrick pulled his cap low over his eyes and shrunk into the couch, wanting nothing more than to leave this interview, hotel, state, country, and crawl under a rock to never be heard from again.

“Patrick, do you remember how you heard about this band? Alkaline Trio?” Joe asked, seeing his friend’s discomfort and doing his best to help.

“How I heard about Alkaline Trio?” He mumbled, trying to get back on his original train of thought.

“Yeah.” Joe nodded, trying to recover the interview and make Pete shut up. Despite the obvious discomfort, the rep seemed to be eating it up, loving that he’d have this relationship between the band members to show off on his show.

 

Patrick was able to talk enough about the band to get a successful take for their program before deciding to call the interview there.

“That’s enough, right?” He asked as soon as he’d finished, standing up from the couch and not leaving them any time to call him back if it wasn’t. He darted out of the room and began walking down the hallway towards their bus. The rep was taken aback but his sudden exit, but had already gotten more than enough for what he needed. He shut off his camera and began packing away his things, thanking them for their time.

“Why do you have to be like that?” She huffed as she moved her gaze from the now closed door to Pete.

“You said we could say whatever we wanted.” He shrugged. Joe rolled his eyes, standing up and brushing off his pants before heading out the door.

“I said you could _say_ whatever you wanted, not _do_ whatever. And also, what _you_ wanted, not me! I was not meant to be involved in that interview.” She argued.

“But _I_ did want that.” He grinned up at her, flashing his teeth.

“Well, now _you_ can go apologise to him.”

“Break it up you two.” Andy spoke as he grabbed Pete’s hoodie, pulling him up with him as he stood. “You,” He said as he turned to point at her. “Go talk to Patrick. He won’t want to talk to Pete. And you,” He said as he yanked at Pete’s hoodie closer to him, forcing him to meet his hard stare as he spoke. “lay off him. You know he hates this interview crap.” She saw the rep tense his shoulders slightly at Andy’s words, and was glad that the camera had already been switched off for that remark. He let go of Pete’s hoodie, standing there expectantly. “Well?” They both took the hint and rushed out of the door into the hall.

 

She wasn’t sure where Patrick would’ve headed to avoid Pete. Assuming he probably wouldn’t head back to their motel given they were sharing a room, she looked around the hotel lobby and the bathrooms on the first floor. After coming up empty she made her way outside, eventually spotting a familiar black and white capped figure sitting on a bench in the park across the road. She made her way over to him, taking a seat on the other end of the bench. He still had his cap pulled down low, but she could see under the brim that he had his eyes shut, clearly trying to calm down a bit. She poked him lightly in the arm and he turned to look at her, adjusting the brim slightly so that she could see his eyes properly.

“Hey, sorry about the interview.” She said, staring down at her shoes. “I probably shouldn’t have interrupted it in the first place, but Pete clearly felt like causing trouble.”

“Don’t be sorry; it’s Pete’s fault, not yours.” He answered simply. There was a moment of silence before she decided to get away from the awkward topic.

“I was coming over to tell you your Gretsch is finally ready to pick up. Just let me know when and I’ll go get it.”

“Oh, awesome!” He beamed. “I’ll go grab it now, we still have a while before we have to be back at the motel.” He stood up from the bench, waiting for her to join him before heading towards the park exit. They walked in silence for a few steps, but the words Patrick had said in the interview rattled around his head. “Look, I… I didn’t mean the things I said in there. I was just trying to get Pete off my back. Literally.” He bit down on his lip anxiously as he stared at the pavement beneath their feet. “Like I didn’t mean to say it was gross, or that you weren’t a hot girl-” He caught himself as the words slipped out of his mouth. “Not that I’m saying you _are_ a hot girl, I just mean…” His eyes widened in panic, suddenly regretting saying anything at all.

“It’s all right, Pat.” She laughed. He looked at her for a moment before letting out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

“Thanks.”


	11. Been Looking Forward to the Future

**Friday, 6 th of April, 2007 - Detroit, Michigan **

Now that Patrick had his precious Gretsch back in his hands, the show sounded flawless. Nobody messed up, the vocals were perfect, and there were no more accidents involving Pete punching equipment. They weren’t quite sure if it was actually the guitar or just Patrick being willing to perform better from behind his favourite instrument, but everyone was glad to be back in the groove. The crowd went wild for them and that only filled the band with even more adrenalin than what they already had.  Only one more night and they’d be back at home. The label hadn’t booked them a hometown show until the end of their tour when they came back for the second leg, but they had already had a few close friends ask for garage gigs to fill the void until they went back on tour in June. They gladly accepted. After their show in Michigan they had decided to go out for a few celebratory drinks at the closest bar to the venue. This was the last show of this leg and they had nowhere to be the next morning, no responsibilities until they got back to Chicago. They also had a bed each for their final night on tour which made going home drunk all the sweeter. Joe had said it was his aunt’s place but the grungy decorating style and stench of weed made that seem unlikely. Regardless, it had five bedrooms, a functional television and more than enough food to feed them for the 24 hours they’d be there. The plan was to start the four hour drive back home once they were sober enough to drive the next day. A few die-hard fans had already made the trip to see them play, they were faces that Joe had recognised and invited out to the bar with them.

 

Pete had offered to buy everyone a round of drinks as soon as they got there, instantly becoming the fan favourite and drawing the attention of other patrons. Andy rolled his eyes as he ordered himself water instead. He shouldn’t be surprised by Pete’s love for attention from strangers by now, but it sometimes made celebrating a successful show a bit harder.

“A toast!” Pete shouted, holding up his glass. Everyone turned to look at him and did the same. “To the album, the tour and going home!” He grinned, taking a large mouthful of the drink. The small crowd shouted in agreement as the band shared a collective look of pride. Regardless of Pete’s attention seeking ways, they were still happy to celebrate how well their first ten shows had been. After the toast, the drinks were flowing pretty fast; probably because Pete kept buying them for people. People quickly congregated around the man who was all too happy to take his wallet out while the other four members of their group found a quieter table in the back to celebrate with a little less grandeur. Andy and Joe had very quickly gotten into a debate about who was more excited to go home. The former arguing that he had a girlfriend waiting for him and the latter pointing out that being at home in your own bed is better than staying in someone else’s, regardless of if you get sex in that bed or not. Patrick found himself looking at the girl sitting across from him, thinking that maybe tonight was the night to ask her on a date before they got home and parted ways for nearly two months. But whenever he tried to his heart felt like it was sitting in his throat, stopping the words from coming out.

 

“So… what are you gonna do when you get back home?” She asked finally, staring into her half empty glass. He sighed in relief, glad to have something to break the silence as the other half of the table continued to argue.

“Probably mess around with some music. We’re on a bit of a break from writing and recording at the moment until we finish the tour, but I’ve got some ideas of my own.” He shrugged. She looked up at him curiously, urging him to continue. “I uh… produce music sometimes. Sometimes write my own stuff, play the instruments and all. The lyrics aren’t as good as Pete’s but the music is pretty good. Or I think so, anyway.” He admitted sheepishly.

“That’s so awesome, Pat! I’d love to hear it sometime.” She beamed up at him. “How do you manage it all yourself?”

“I have this… huge switch board thing? It… It’s hard to explain.” He laughed, “But it lets me mix all the sounds and stuff. It would be better to show you to explain it, then you can see what it does. I’ve got it at home, I’ll just show you once we’re back in Chicago.” He nodded, giving her a small smile. The thought of hanging out outside of band-related work made her pulse pick up ever so slightly. It sounded like a good step in the right direction.

“Sounds like a plan.” She grinned, holding her glass up. He tapped his to it and took a sip, an excited glint in his blue eyes. The familiar ringtone of her phone suddenly broke their conversation. She fished the phone out of her pocket, seeing her manager’s name blinking across the screen. It had been a while since she’d heard from the label, but she wasn’t expecting to hear from them until they were back in Chicago next week. “Sorry, I’ve just gotta take this.” She excused herself, pushing her way through the small crowd that had formed and into what looked like an unused coat room.

 

“Hey, boss.” She answered with a laugh, trying to keep the mood light in case she was being told off for something she wasn’t aware of. Fireworks instantly came to mind.

“Hi, just calling to check in and see how it’s all going?” His voice echoed down the line.

“Excellently! The shows are going off without a hitch other than the guitar damage you are already aware of, and everyone is doing pretty well for themselves.” She found herself nodding, even though she knew he couldn’t possibly see that.

“Good to hear.” The sound of chatter and shuffling papers could be heard in the background, she assumed he probably just got out of a meeting and was asked to check in. “So Peter has been behaving since the incident on stage with the guitar?” He asked. She paused for a moment, thinking back to the lamp at the party and the interview a few days ago.

“Yep.” She lied.

“Great, I’m glad that our investment in hiring you is paying off. Hopefully soon enough he’ll stop acting out all together and you can be back here in Chicago!” His words hung in the static air for a moment as she tried to process them.

“You mean… go back to my old job?” She asked with a frown.

“Well, maybe not your old job. There’s talk of giving you a promotion for how well you’ve done with this!” He was trying to make it sound like her being back in their stuffy office would be a good thing, but that was the last thing she wanted. In the background she could hear him continue to talk about what the promotion would mean for her, but the thought of not being on tour with the guys anymore was all that ran through her mind. She didn’t want to leave; the thought hurt a lot more than she was willing to admit after only having known them for about a month. It was just too easy to fall into their routines, and they were far too easy to get along with. Even Pete had turned out pretty good in the end. His ridiculous antics normally brought humour to their days, not that she’d ever tell him that. Eventually she heard her name being called through the phone and tried to snap back to reality.

“Sorry, what did you say?” She asked, scrunching her eyes up and trying to push the thoughts to the back of her mind.

“I _said_ drive safe and we’ll see you when you get to Chicago.” He laughed lightly as the line went dead.

 

 His words echoed around her head: she’d have to leave the band. It shouldn’t have come as _that_ much of a surprise, she should have known that eventually she would be leaving the band, it wasn’t like she was going to tour with them forever. But it wasn’t something that had crossed her mind. As much as she missed her family and friends, this new life on tour was one she had already grown used to. She’d be losing four friends and going back to a job she hated. And Patrick- _Patrick_. Her head spun. She had only just accepted that she might have feelings for him and it was so quickly ripped out from under her. If something happened between them and then the label decided that her job was done and she needed to be back in the office, it would be heartbreaking. She couldn’t do that to him. She found herself pacing the small room, trying to think of a way out of being assigned back to a desk job. He’d called it a promotion, so maybe if she did a terrible job they wouldn’t promote her? But then they’d probably just hire someone else to be Pete’s impulse control. Maybe she could just quit? But that was too risky, what if the band didn’t want to keep her around? She’d have no reason to be there if she quit. Heading back into the bar right now seemed like a bad idea, she needed time to process this information and work out the best course of action. She sent Pete a quick text to say she would see them back at the house and left.

 

“What do you mean she _left_?” Patrick asked with a frown as he finally cornered Pete at the bar.

“I dunno man, she just texted me saying she was going back to the house.” Pete shrugged, taking his fifth jacks and coke from the bartender greedily. He was nowhere near drunk enough to deal with the fact that people he knew had driven up to Detroit to see them play and had then followed them out for the night. Entertaining them on stage _and_ in this bar was too much pressure for a sober Pete. But a drunk and cash-happy Pete was someone everyone loved, and being able to distract himself with stranger’s affections was something he always enjoyed.

“Why?” He pressed.

“I _don’t know_.” He repeated as he took a mouthful of his drink. “Why don’t you go ask her for yourself?” He asked with a sly smile.

“Well, obviously none of you are going to.” He huffed, finishing his drink and setting the glass on the bar.

“Go get ‘em, tiger.” Pete winked, pushing Patrick’s shoulder lightly.

“Shut up.” He grumbled, pulling his cap low over his eyes as he left the bar.

 

She couldn’t remember the last time in the past month that she had privacy, _proper_ privacy. Not just a room to yourself, but a whole house to yourself. By the time the taxi had dropped her off back at where they were staying for the night it was about two in the morning. Knowing how the guys liked to party and the fact that they didn’t need to leave first thing the next morning, she assumed she’d probably have a couple of hours to herself until they drunkenly stumbled through the door. At first the silence had been nice. The space and quiet had been room to think, to breathe and try to get a grasp on what might happen in the break before their second leg. She assumed it was fairly likely that she would hold her position until the end of the tour and then things would be reassessed, but that depended on what happened in the month the band was at home. Maybe in light of that Pete hadn’t cost them anything in a while they wouldn’t let her go on the second leg of tour to save on the hotel rooms and bigger tour bus. They might consider that a better cost saver than hiring her to watch Pete for another month.  If they made her keep the desk job, she might not see the band again. They’d almost certainly lose contact when they went back on tour. She found herself chewing at the side of her nail anxiously and decided maybe this house was too quiet. Maybe being left alone with her thoughts was not as an excellent idea as it had been at the bar. A few minutes later she had the TV on loud enough to be a decent distraction and a bag of potato chips in hand, deciding that it was an issue that could be dealt with later.

 

The minutes dragged on into what felt like hours, and soon enough her brain was slowly starting to give way to sleep and forget about the thoughts that had been worrying her; until a knock at the door abruptly pulled her back to reality. She grudgingly pulled herself up to her feet and looked through the peephole in the door, seeing a familiar sideburn and cap clad singer on the other side.

“Pat?” She frowned as she opened the door. “You’re back early.” She moved to the side, letting him into the house.

“Yeah, Pete told me you left so I thought I’d just make sure you were all right.” He explained before shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the table next to the front door. His eyes were instantly drawn to the flickering of the TV and the half eaten bag of chips on the couch. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Something like that.” She nodded, moving back to the couch to retrieve the bag of chips and put them back in the cupboard.

“Did you want company?” He offered, taking a step closer. The warning bells went off in her brain straight away: getting close with him meant that inevitably it will all get taken away.

“Uh, no. I might just go to bed actually.” She rushed out. He stared at her in confusion. “It… it’s pretty late.” She tried to lie, feeling like her face was probably betraying her with how red it felt.

“Oh, okay.” He swallowed hard at the hurt that pooled in his chest. She went to walk past him in the direction of the bedrooms but he caught her wrist in his grip. “It, um… I didn’t do anything, did I?” He asked anxiously as she turned to look at him. “Just you left right after we talked, and-”

“No, it’s not you.” She answered. “It’s just work stuff.”

“All right…” He nodded softly. “I know you work for our bosses and all, but if I can help all you need to do is ask.” The amount of genuine care in his eyes was enough to push her over the edge. Instantly she felt the tears threatening to spill, so she mumbled a thank you before quickly retreating to her room. Leaving him standing in the hallway alone.


	12. What Are You Waiting For?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Props to [SnitchesAndTalkers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnitchesAndTalkers) for a bit of inspiration on this one.

**Friday, 27 th of April, 2007 – Chicago, Illinois **

Chicago welcomed them home with open arms and downfall of sleet on the particularly cold evening that they arrived back at the studio. Despite their close quarters and tight knit friendships for over a month, as soon as they set foot on familiar soil the band parted ways. Andy returned home to his girlfriend, ecstatic to see her and catch up on the things he had missed. She had changed her hair, it now being a vibrant blue, and had rearranged their furniture. Andy was also surprised to come home to six little kittens padding around the house. One night before Andy had gone on tour their cat had gotten loose, and unbeknownst to them she had found herself a boyfriend. He couldn’t say he was disappointed to come home to the new additions to their household. Joe went back to his apartment and sunk into the familiar environment. He spent his days happily on the couch in his underwear, eating cereal from the box and catching up on TV. The party lifestyle was one that he enjoyed while he was on the road, but when he was home, that was the only place he wanted to be. Pete had instantly relished in not having anyone watching over him and he spent the first few days breaking as many rules as he could think of. He realised fairly quickly that without anyone there to tell him off or see his antics, being a delinquent wasn’t very fun. Once he had felt the need for company he was drawn back to his long term on-off girlfriend. Things quickly picked up where they had left off when he broke up with her for the third time before going on tour, and for the moment they were happy. Patrick made his way to his home nearby the studio and recorded a few pieces that had been stuck in his head, but the night of their final show was what stuck in his head most. She said it wasn’t him, but he couldn’t help but feel like maybe it was something he said or did. If only he could work out what. His texts and calls were going unanswered, so his mind instantly jumped to the worst conclusion.

 

The third Friday that they were home was Patrick’s 23rd birthday and Pete wanted to do something for it. Patrick was his best friend, his rock, his soulmate; he deserved a party at the very least. He’d staked out Patrick’s place that morning from the corner of his block, waiting for him to eventually leave so that he could begin phase one of his plan. Once he saw the familiar sedan leave the driveway, he started putting his thoughts in motion and parked his pickup truck on the back lawn. He slipped Patrick’s spare key out from above the door frame before unlocking the front door and stepping inside. It was exactly how he remembered it: crazy clean and everything in its assigned place. He started moving the furniture around for ideal party space but realised fairly quickly that he needed help if he wanted to get this done. But who could he call on at such short notice? Who would be willing to drop everything to do something for Patrick? He knew exactly the person as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and found ‘Babysitter’ in his contacts. “Hey doll, how are things? How’s work going?” He spoke into his phone as he tried his best to sound like he genuinely cared.

“Why?” She countered.

“I was wondering if you could help me with something…” He started, hearing her sigh down the line.

“Look Pete, since we got back they’ve been making me catch up on all this paperwork and-” She began trying to make an excuse.

“It’s Patrick’s birthday today and I want to throw him a party.” He heard silence fall over her and smirked inwardly. He knew that dangling his name would be enough for her to bite.

“Fine,” She huffed “What time and where?”

“His place and now.” He answered with a grin as he hung up.

 

Just under half an hour later she was stumbling into Patrick’s house through the wide open door.

“Pete?” She called, trying to peer down the unfamiliar hallways as she shut the door behind her. His house seemed to be fairly neat and tidy, almost to the point of being unlived in. She assumed it probably wasn’t, because he either seemed to be on tour or in the studio almost all of the time. His front room had a bookcase lined with records and an impressive looking player pushed up against it. There was space on the wall for a TV opposite the blue couch, but there wasn’t one to be seen. She went to start flicking through the records when the man in question finally came running down the stairs.

“You’re here! Great!” He beamed as he planted a hand firmly on her shoulder and began pushing her through the house towards the back door.

“Why was the door wide open? How did you get in here? And where’s Patrick?” She asked with a frown, taking a quick glance around the kitchen as they passed it.

“He’s down at the studio recording some… piano track he said was stuck in his head,” He waved his hands for emphasis that he had no idea what Patrick had meant by that. “he should be gone all day. Also, I know where he keeps his spare key and the door was wide open so that we can start moving things around.” He explained as he shoved her back outside.

“ _Things_?” She repeated in confusion.

“Party things.” As he said it, her eyes landed on a beat up pickup parked in the middle of the back lawn _overflowing_ with party supplies.

 

By the time that they had unloaded all of the stereo equipment, the lights, the fold out furniture, the kegs and more balloons than she could count, it was getting close to party time. Guests had started rocking up and were filling up the backyard and kitchen. Joe and Andy arrived shortly before the man of the hour was expected, presents in hand. Andy clapped a proud hand on Pete’s shoulder when he saw all of the decorations and the effort he had gone to. “You’ve done a good job. He’ll love it.” He complimented as he made his way into the crowd of people. Pete was running around and making sure everything was perfect when he heard the key turn in the front door, forcing him to stop in his tracks in front of the stairwell. The door swung open and Patrick stepped into his house, not even noticing the crowd of people just beyond his lounge room, hanging his jacket on the hook by the door and dropping his keys on the entry table.

“Surprise!” Pete shouted loudly, forcing the singer to nearly jump out of his skin. He spun around in shock as everyone shouted their birthday wishes all at once. His jaw dropped.

“Pete? You… you did all this? For me?” He asked in awe, taking in the decorations and the music. He couldn’t even see all of the guests from where he was but he could certainly hear them.

“Yeah! I wanted you to have a good day.” He grinned, walking up to him and wrapping him in a tight hug. “Happy birthday, man!”

“Aw, thanks.” Patrick smiled, finally taking a few steps into his house to admire Pete’s handiwork.

“C’mon, let’s get you a drink.”

 

Pete made sure that Patrick had the best birthday party he could ever throw. There was cake, there were drinks, there was enough food to feed an army and he made sure to invite all of Patrick’s favourite people. He spent a while ushering him around from person to person to make sure he got to talk to all of the guests he had spent hours meticulously stealing contact information for from Patrick’s phone and  inviting. Until his girlfriend threw a few suggestive looks his way, after that Patrick had found himself trying to navigate around his suddenly unfamiliar house by himself. Pete had taken out half of the furniture and placed it… somewhere, and people filled up his usually empty hallways. He recognised a few friends from college, and the odd person from highschool, a few people he used to work with. Eventually he found himself searching for the party for the one person he actually wanted to talk to, he was certain Pete had mentioned that she was here. But as he started his search, someone roped him into a conversation. She, meanwhile, was hoping to not see the birthday boy as she made the risky trip from her backyard conversation with Joe back inside to the bathroom. She hadn’t seen him since they’d gotten home, and that had been for good reason: she was worried if they got too close she wouldn’t be able to keep herself in check. Her contract hadn’t been renewed yet to go back on tour with them and it worried her immensely. They were still talking about that “promotion” but that only meant she’d be stuck at her desk even more. She wasn’t game enough to put her own heart on the line when it was such a risky situation, let alone the potential of breaking his heart also. As his eyes met hers from across the room when she stepped through the back door, he excused himself from the conversation he was having and headed her way. Her mind raced. Could she keep trying to avoid him? It was inevitable that she’d have to talk to him at _his_ birthday. She couldn’t avoid him forever. Could she..?

 

His eyes lit up as he approached her, his instinct was to wrap her in a hug but he felt that might not be his best decision at the moment. “I’m so glad you could make it! Pete mentioned you helped him set up?” He asked, taking the last sip of beer from his plastic cup. He was trying his best to act nonchalant, like he hadn’t just spent half an hour looking for her. Like he hadn’t been beating himself up for three weeks over what had gone wrong. They were getting on so great until after that last show, what had he done?

“Yeah, he oh so kindly sprung it on me this morning.” She answered with a roll of her eyes.

“Typical Pete.” He laughed loudly as he began walking to the kitchen to get another drink. “You guys did a good job.”

“I didn’t even know it was your birthday. Sorry that I didn’t get you a present, Patrick.” She admitted sheepishly, finding herself following him. He felt his jaw clench involuntarily. When was the last time she’d called him that? It had only been three weeks and she was already back to calling him Patrick?

“It’s okay, I don’t need presents.” He shrugged, pouring what he could only assume was cheap vodka into the cup. It looked clear and smelled alcoholic, it would have to do until he located where Pete had hidden his expensive stuff from the party goers. “But, uh… Have a drink with me?” He asked, a nervous smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, I… I probably shouldn’t. Pete-”

“Is fine.” He interrupted, gesturing to where he was standing through the back door. She followed his gaze to see that Pete was happily chatting to his girlfriend outside. “You’re not working right now. We’re in my house. If he breaks something, he knows I’ll be making him replace it out of his own money.” He chuckled, holding the cup out to her.  “Please?” He added with a hopeful look. He felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest. It was only a drink but if she said yes then maybe it was a step closer to something, anything. It nearly deafened him with how loudly it was thumping in his ears. He was almost worried she would be able to hear it too. Her rationality wanted to find a reason to say no, but the look in his eyes made the decision for her as she found herself nodding. He broke out in a grin, passing her the cup and pouring one for himself.

 

As he had hoped, once alcohol was flowing between them the conversation came easily. They caught up about what they’d been doing for the last few weeks, they were joking around, and he was finally able to show her the switchboard as he’d promised. He even showed her a few snippets of his songs in progress. They eventually made their way back to the kitchen and he went to pour her another drink.

“Because you started drinking later, I’m going to make yours a double.” He smirked to himself as he was pouring the spirit, his words slurring slightly.

“Hey!” She laughed as she went to swipe the cup back from him. “That’s not fair!” He turned so that his back was facing her and she couldn’t grab the drinks.

“It is so. You’ve gotta catch up!” He explained as he poured himself a drink too. She tried to reach around him to pull the bottle of liquor away but he was too quick. He spun around out of her grasp, somehow not spilling anything despite his fairly drunken state. When he finally went to offer her the drink he had made her, he stared at the cups in confusion. “Oh, I… uh…. I forget which one is the double strength...” He frowned. She slapped his shoulder.

“ _Pat!_ ” She shouted. He grinned up at her in response, unsure if the warmth spreading through him was from the alcohol or something else. His brain wasn’t quite able to keep up with his emotions after the few drinks he’d already had.

“It’s okay, I’ll just add an extra shot to both.” He reasoned, nodding as he tipped the last of the bottle into the drinks.

“Stop adding more alcohol!” She objected before having one of the cups placed in her hand. He looked at her for confirmation, holding his own drink out for her to cheers him. She gave a short sigh before tapping the rim of her plastic cup to his. “Happy birthday.” She chuckled with a shake of her head, taking a swig of the overly strong drink.

 

The double strength vodkas quickly turned into mandatory-birthday-tequila-shots, which turned into birthday-present-scotch, and then I-haven’t-seen-you-in-forever-Jägerbombs. People kept trying to drag him away to catch up, but he waved them away or said he’d chat later, quite happy with the company he already had. Not that she was complaining. After the second tequila shot when she nearly stumbled into a wall, Patrick had wrapped a stabilising arm around her and had made sure to be nearby at all times after that. The constant close proximity put the butterflies in her stomach through their paces. She found herself stumbling and slurring on purpose, just to get the attention from him, and he either didn’t mind or was drunk enough not to notice she was faking it. The more time she spent around him the more she felt herself falling back into old patterns of affection. She vaguely remembered that she was meant to be keeping her distance from him, but as she watched him eagerly talk about his ideas for their next album, for the life of her she couldn’t remember why. At that point in time there didn’t seem to be an excuse strong enough to keep her from wanting to run a hand through his blonde locks to see if they were as soft as they looked. After racking her drunken brain for answers and coming up empty, she figured the reason mustn’t have been all that important. Or maybe she was just choosing to forget it so that Patrick would brush up against her again. Either or. While she was trying to sort out her own mind it seemed that the alcohol was starting to catch up with her, she was no longer just acting wasted. The butterflies in her stomach had quickly turned into an uncomfortable churning. When the nausea didn’t pass after a few minutes, she figured she should probably say something. “Pat… I-I’m feeling pretty unwell.” She struggled out. He turned to her with a panicked expression, noticing the paleness in her features.

“Shit, um… the bathroom is this way.” He said, quickly ushering her through the hallways down to the nearest toilet. He went to turn the handle but the noises coming from inside the room made his hand stop short. “All right, that’s clearly occupied. Where…” His eyes searched the hall for a solution, finally landing on her and knowing he had to come up with something quick. “I’ve got an ensuite, come on.” He said as he grabbed her hand and led her up the stairs to his bedroom.

 

After having the party thrown for him as soon as he stepped in the door, he’d never actually had the chance to go up to his room to take off his jacket and shoes like he normally would. It so turned out that Pete had not only decorated the first floor of his home and that he had a go at every space that wasn’t locked away from him. A large banner hung above his bed with sloppily painted words that read: ‘GET SOME TRICK’ as well as rose petals spread all over the bed and a box of condoms neatly placed in the middle. There were also balloons strewn about the floor, obviously in an attempt to keep the birthday theme flowing. Patrick rolled his eyes as he pulled the duvet off, along with everything on it, deciding to clean it all up in the morning. “The bathroom is just through there.” He said, sitting on the bed and gesturing to the open door across the room. She glanced from the bathroom back to him, nodding as she sat down next to him. “Uh… The… the bathroom is in there?” He repeated in confusion.

“I know.” She mumbled, resting her head in her hands and taking some deep breaths. If she could avoid it, she didn’t want to let the nausea win.

“Are you okay?” He asked in a worried tone as he placed a hand softly on her back.

“Getting there.” She chuckled quietly. He tried his best to comfort her, rubbing softly on the small of her back. She could feel his calloused fingertips scoring patterns into her skin, the heat radiating through her shirt. At this point in time though, that wasn’t what she wanted to be focused on. After a few laboured breaths she looked up see his concerned gaze trained on her, and the very tasteful banner hanging above him. She scoffed a quiet laugh, making a mental note to punch Pete later. “I think I’m all right.” She nodded weakly, turning slightly so she could lean back against the foot of his bed and let out a shaky breath. He gave her a reassuring smile, letting his hand fall onto the mattress as her eyes slipped shut. The room was still spinning due to the alcohol raging through her system but at least she didn’t feel the impending need to throw up anymore.

“Did you want to go back downstairs? I can get you some crackers or-” He started to get up from the bed until she placed a hand on his knee.

“No, can we just… sit for a minute?” She asked, getting a nod in response from him. He wanted to take care of her, but he also didn’t want to remove her hand from his thigh. In addition to this, he was starting to feel the effects of everything they’d consumed throughout the night settling in and was grateful to have a few moments to compose himself before he had to go back downstairs and face his crowd of guests. He’d had a little something just to take off the edge and be able to talk to her, but now he was feeling like he’d overdone it and at any moment he was about to stumble off the edge of the planet into the void of drunkenness.

 

The minutes ticked by as the two of them tried to feel a bit less drunk, the room slowly spinning to a stop like the needle at the end of a record. The party continued on downstairs without the birthday boy, the sounds of music and laughter echoing up the stairs. When she finally felt like the nausea had fully passed she opened her eyes and looked at the man sitting opposite her. He was slumped forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes shut as he tried to will the booze away. Somehow during the night his black cap had ended up turned backwards and his hair had been ruffled, some of it falling down past his glasses. She thought she remembered Pete doing it at some point during his numerous birthday wishes but couldn’t be sure. As though he sensed her analysing it, he absent-mindedly reached up and turned his cap around, gaze meeting hers with a hint of a smile as he did so. Her heart skipped a beat as she stared into his blue eyes, and in that moment she wanted nothing more than to kiss him. Why hadn’t she been doing that already? Right, because she had been avoiding him for three weeks. Because she had been deliberately pushing one of her new-found friends away.

 

“I’m sorry.” She blurted out as the guilt washed over her, leaning forward until her head was pressed into his chest. He frowned down at her in confusion but wrapped his arms around her anyway.

“What for?”

“For ignoring you when we got home.” She mumbled into his shirt.

“Oh…” He raised his eyebrows in surprise; he hadn’t anticipated her bringing the subject up herself. If he had known that this was going to happen then he wouldn’t have had so much to drink to build up his own nerve. “Um, w-why did you? I kind of felt like I must’ve done something.” He admitted.

“No, you… it wasn’t you… Didn’t wanna hurt you.” Her voice slurred. He found himself stroking her hair as he tried to interpret her answer. A little voice in the back of his mind made a mental note to feel bad later for getting them both wasted.

“Hurt me? How?” He asked.

“Leaving.” _Leaving_? Was she moving? Did she plan on going somewhere? He was pretty certain she’d said once that she wanted to live her life in Chicago. But that didn’t add up if she was worried about leaving.

“Where are you going?” He finally questioned. This conversation wasn’t helping him work out why she had been dodging his texts _at all_.

“Nowhere, that’s the problem.” She sighed. Well, that checked out but it didn’t ease his racing mind. Her explanation hadn’t given much of an insight into why she had been ignoring him but at least he was pretty certain he wasn’t the problem now. Even he still wasn’t sure exactly _what_ the problem was. He let the silence fall between them, happy to at least have half of an answer and for them to be talking again.

 

He cleared his throat after a few minutes, “So… Did you, uh… did you mean what you said about lead singers?” He asked to break the silence. It had been playing on his mind since she’d casually slipped it into conversation all those weeks ago, and it was one of the many things he had hoped he’d have the guts to ask if he got drunk. She moved back from the hug and looked at him in confusion until he elaborated. “Before that show, when you said-”

“Oh, that they’re where it’s at looks-wise?” She laughed, interrupting him as the memory flooded back. He nodded, feeling his mouth drying up as soon as his brain realised what conversation he’d started. “Yeah, I guess.” She shrugged, a lazy smile on her lips.

“You _guess_?” He repeated, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. His heart sank. He wanted the bed to consume him just so that he could leave now and back out of the conversation.

“I mean not every single band follows that rule,” Why had he even brought this up? This was a terrible idea. “Those Fall Out Boy guys though…” She made an approving noise as her sentence trailed off. He took a few moments to process those words, chewing at the dry skin on his bottom lip with a frown. She couldn’t be implying what he thought she was? No… No way.

“What?”

“ _That_ lead singer is pretty attractive. Definitely my pick of the band.” She laughed as she brought her arms up around his neck. Her sober mind had long since given up on trying to control her thoughts about Patrick tonight. Shit, she _was_ talking about him. She thought he was attractive?

“Really?” He asked with a lopsided smile as he rested his forehead against hers. His heart threatened to leap out of his chest. He was sure his cheeks must look like tomatoes right now but he didn’t care.

“For sure, and I hear he’s a hell of a great guy,” Her breath tickled his cheek. “Not to mention that his talent carries the band.” A breathless laugh escaped his throat.

“Well, I don’t know about-” Before he could finish his sentence she leaned up to kiss him. But as their lips brushed together she was rather rudely interrupted in her actions by the brim of Patrick’s hat colliding with her forehead. She jolted back in surprise, blinking a couple of times to register what had happened. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.” He began spewing apologies in an attempt to recover the situation. His brain hadn’t even quite caught up with the fact that she was about to kiss him, let alone how quickly the words were falling from his mouth now. She tore his cap off of his head, throwing it onto the bed behind him so that it definitely couldn’t get into the way as she crashed her lips into his.

 

As soon as she closed the distance between them, she was kicking herself for not having done this sooner. His lips were so soft and her nerve endings were instantly set alight at finally fulfilling what she’d wanted to do for weeks. Patrick was taken by surprise for a few seconds, his breath hitching in his throat before his instincts kicked in and he kissed her back. His hands moved from where they had been resting on her waist to the small of her back. He was trying his best to call on all of his skill from the limited experience he had, using his teeth to nip pressure into her lower lip. She moved her hand from resting at the back of his neck to tangle in his mess of blonde hair. Their lips moved together like it was ingrained in their DNA, like it the blueprints had just been sitting there waiting to be utilised. Wherever his hands moved left her skin feeling it was fire where they had been, she wanted nothing more than to chase that sensation for hours. He kissed down the line of her jaw, grazing his teeth along where it met her neck and smiling into her skin at the moan it elicited from her. She let herself fall back onto the bed, pulling him down with her with a laugh. Absently she noted the brim of Patrick’s hat poking her in the back, he should get a new hat, something that didn’t involve brims. The weeks of pent up pining had finally gotten to the both of them, and neither intended on letting the other go.

 

Until a loud knock on the door pulled them out of the love-drunk haze, both them pulling back with such speed that they could have been mistaken for polarising magnets. They sat there, breathing heavy in the suddenly tense room, minds replaying the past few minutes in their heads as they tried to process what had happened. “Patrick, you in there?” Joe’s voice called through the door. They stared at each other, pupils blown and hands twitching at their sides, neither willing to speak up. “Don’t tell me you fell asleep at your own party!” He laughed loudly. Patrick’s tongue swiped over his lower lip, the taste of their kiss still lingering on his skin. He cleared his throat in a futile attempt to make his voice somewhat steady before speaking.

“N-no, I was just… changing my shirt.” He lied, still not moving his gaze from hers. His eyes searched hers for what she was feeling, but he couldn’t pinpoint whatever emotions were lying in them.

“All right, well you’d better come down soon before Pete comes up here to find you.” He warned in a sing song voice, his footsteps slowly fading as he walked away from the door. He sounded drunk; Patrick hoped he wouldn’t remember this conversation in the morning.

 

Silence returned back to the room. As it so turns out, nothing sobers you up faster than kissing someone you really wanted to, but had repeatedly told yourself not to. As her thoughts were catching up with her she realised what she’d done. Shit. She’d kissed Patrick. Shit. She had kissed Patrick. They were going back on tour in just over two weeks and her contract hadn’t been renewed yet. This was the worst thing she could have done other than crush him right on the spot at his birthday. But she was probably about to do just that anyway.

 “We… we should probably pretend that didn’t happen…” She whispered. He frowned for a moment, unsure he’d heard her correctly.

“We should?” He repeated in confusion. She nodded vigorously, finally tearing her eyes away from his and studying the carpet of his bedroom instead. “I… uh… all right, I guess.”

“It’d be best if we just forget about it.” She gave him a faked sympathetic smile, trying to retain composure until she could get out of his room. A large part of her itched to kiss him again, but her brain repeatedly flashed those warning lights.

“But, I don’t-”

 

“PATRIIIIIIICK.” Pete’s voice rang out loudly from outside the door. Before either of them had time to object the door had been flung wide open and Pete waltzed into the room. Clearly he was blind drunk, because he totally ignored the second person in the room and only bee-lined to who he had been looking for. “Patrick!” He grinned as he pulled him up off the bed and wrapped him in a tight hug. She quickly took the opportunity to slip out of the room while they were occupied, not wanting to continue her fairly awkward conversation. As she made her way down the stairs she decided it might be best to just head home and sleep on the terrible decisions she had made. Maybe in the cold light of a hungover day, they wouldn’t seem so bad. Also she was not willing to risk that she’d end up back in Patrick’s bedroom if she stayed.

“Pete, not now.” He grunted, trying to push the bassist off him.

“Are you having a good birthday?” He slurred, his vice grip unmoving. “You deserve a good birthday.”

“Well, I _was_ , but-” The light from the now opened door illuminated the room, and as Patrick glanced around he noticed that the person he was looking for had already left. “Fuck.”


	13. Me and My Plus One

**Saturday, 28 th of April, 2007 – Chicago, Illinois **

This time around, Patrick at least knew why he was being ignored. He couldn’t say he was overly comfortable with the situation but _this_ time he knew what the cause behind it was. At least he was pretty sure he knew what it was; his memory was kind of hazy up until when Joe had interrupted them.  As his head hung over his toilet bowl the following morning, he tried to recall everything to the best of his ability through his pounding headache. It felt like a freight train had pushed its way through his ear canal and left a train of destruction as it pushed from one side of his head to the other, but he could make out some details through the debris. He had sent her a few half-drunken texts shortly after Pete had interrogated him about his opinion on their party planning, and unsurprisingly, they went unanswered. The night had ended not long after that, partially due to Patrick kicking people out one by one in his attempts to find her, and partially due to people actually having to go home. Once everyone had left Patrick found himself moping in his bedroom until the sun started creeping through his curtains the following morning. In the cold light of day, being forced to throw up the contents of his stomach, he was beginning to feel like maybe last night wasn’t his best decision.  He should’ve known better. He should have known that it would only leave him feeling worse and wanting even more answers than he had been given. She had told him to forget it, so maybe that’s exactly what he should, _would_ do.

**Thursday, 14 th of June, 2007 – Chicago, Illinois**

The time gradually ticked by in their time off. Andy had a low key family get-together for his 27th birthday in late May; meanwhile Pete had another raging party in a privately hired club for his 28th in early June to celebrate getting through his 27th year on this Earth that he never felt he’d make it to. Eventually they had to start getting ready to go back on tour. The bus was hired for the month that they would need it and was scheduled to meet them in Washington after their flight. Guitars were packed, drums were neatly slipped into their boxes, and merch was chosen. Mostly that had all been sent earlier so that it could take the longer, and cheaper, way around. Interviews were had, signings were attended, promos were released – anything to make sure that people _knew_ Fall Out Boy were coming. If the first of their two months off had been a break, the second had been intentionally made as busy as possible just to make touring seem easy in comparison. In the process of all this commotion, Patrick had found himself meeting many new people. One of whom took a shine to him, and he took a shine to her. All of a sudden he found himself with a girlfriend. A girlfriend who wanted to come on tour with him. This was unfamiliar territory for him; he’d never properly dated anyone since they started touring regularly. She was one of the people who worked in the studio, so she wouldn’t be coming on the road normally, but he had assured her that she could come along to the first two shows with him. From there she was going to meet a friend in Oregon and they’d drive home together. He was more than happy to let the excitement of the new experience keep his mind occupied.

 

The band and immediate crew members had crammed themselves into a row of seats at the airport, waiting patiently – or impatiently in Andy’s case – for their red eye flight to Washington. He sat there bouncing his knee as he watched the clock in the corner of the electronic poster in front of them. The time gradually counted up and up as he anxiously glanced around the waiting area for their missing bassist.

“Where the fuck is he?” He grumbled under his breath.

“He’ll be here, man. He was in that group chat with the flight times, just like the rest of us.” Joe reasoned from under his eye mask. He had decided as soon as they sat down that it was far too late to still be functioning and had opted to take a nap in the waiting room seat. But their drummer’s constant worrying had mostly prevented that from happening.

“It’s five minutes until we board. You’ve not heard anything from him?” His question fell upon deaf ears. Joe was either ignoring him or half asleep already and Patrick was too engrossed in his conversation with his girlfriend to care. He kicked Patrick’s shin across the aisle, earning an ‘ow’ in response as he attempted to rub the pain out of his leg. “Pete? Have you heard from him?” He asked again.

“No, I haven’t spoken to him since the day after my party.” Patrick glared back.

“Well, I’m going to call-” Before he could even punch the numbers into his phone, a familiar, overly loud, laugh filled the mostly empty gates.

“I told you he’d be here.” Joe mumbled.

 

“Are you not meant to be my babysitter?” Pete laughed as he dropped his backpack from his shoulder. Patrick felt himself tense at those words, trying to remain interested in his conversation but suddenly finding it very hard to remain focused. “I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be giving me tips about how to get as drunk as I can on the plane.”

“You said you don’t like flying. If you’re totally wasted, you won’t even remember you did it.” She shrugged as the two of them walked up to join the group. Patrick felt the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. They hadn’t spoken in over two weeks. He had assumed that she wasn’t coming back for the second leg of the tour. The label had never mentioned her staying on for another month.

“I might _also_ try and join the mile high club though.” He chuckled as he nudged her in the ribs.

Joe snorted loudly with a laugh, “Don’t pretend like you haven’t already.”

 

Eventually Patrick caved to the nagging feeling in the back of his mind and looked up at her from the waiting room chair. She was rifling through her bag, he assumed for her boarding pass. The conversation he had been having was still droning on in the background of his thoughts. He felt like maybe he should say something about where they left off, but if she hadn’t wanted to talk then, why would she now? He stared at her in a stupefied silence until eventually she looked up from her bag and met his gaze. Her eyes flicked from his to above his head.

“New hat?” She asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Uh, yeah.” He absentmindedly touched the fedora atop his head. “The other one…” He swallowed hard as he tried to force the words out, “it kept getting in the way.” He could’ve sworn he saw a blush creep onto her cheeks, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it because soon enough his girlfriend was grabbing his arm and dragging him to the gate to board their flight.

**Friday, 15 th of June, 2007 – Seattle, Washington**

The flight was mostly uneventful. To avoid his crippling anxiety of impending doom on a metal death trap, Pete doped himself up on some sleeping pills and in-flight vodka. When he came to he was draped across a couch somewhere. He felt vaguely like he was moving, but he himself wasn’t. Was he in a car? His eyes slowly came into focus and he realised he was facing a small living area. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and sat up, figuring he must have been relocated to the tour bus. A little part of him wondered who had the pleasure of hauling his unconscious ass here, but given the fact that a blanket was draped around his waist and a water bottle sat at his feet, he assumed it was probably Andy. Also he wasn’t entirely sure if anyone else would be able to carry him without assistance. He glanced around the small area at the back of the bus, spying the kitchen through the aisle of bunks and feeling his stomach growl. How long had he been out? Apparently long enough that he felt that familiar sleep induced unsteady feeling settling in his legs.  The bus seemed dark; it must still be early morning. All of the bunks had their curtains pulled shut so he assumed they had left him here while they all went to bed. He ambled through to the kitchen, examining what was in the well-stocked cupboards. This was a hell of a lot fancier than what they had in the past. The appliances were all chrome and shiny, there was a proper benchtop and even an oven cooktop combo. They must have either hired or purchased this bus from new. He absentmindedly wondered how fancy a tour bus kitchen would have to be before he decided they had made it as he refiled through the food supplies. He couldn’t help but snicker with the knowledge that the label had intended for this to last the whole tour. It would last a week at best.

 

After much consideration he settled on a packet of pancake mix, it seemed the most practical option and he was excited to use appliances that he’d never had the thrill of using on a moving vehicle before. Would it be easier to flip pancakes with the momentum of the bus? But before his hand could even come into contact with the gas dial, it was rudely slapped away.

“Fucking hell,” He squeaked in surprise as he pulled his hand up to his chest, “don’t sneak up on people like that.”

“You are banned from the gas appliances.” She ordered as she moved in between him and the stove.

“What? Why?” He tried to reach around her to at least retrieve the pancake mix but she wouldn’t budge.

“Because you have a tendency to explode things.” She explained, narrowing her eyes at him. He vaguely remembered fireworks in hotels.

“No, I don’t.” He lied. “But even _if_ I did, how am I going to cook pancakes without a stove?”

“I guess you’ll have fun working that out.” She grinned up at him. They stood there in silence for a few moments, waiting for the other to stand down, until he admitted defeat. He groaned loudly, instead grabbing a bag of chips from the counter and moving to sink back into the couch.

The two of them decided to watch whatever terrible show was on at five in the morning in the middle of nowhere, killing time until everyone else woke up. She had gotten up early to make sure everything on the bus was working before everyone attempted to use it, at least that way they would be able to accurately tell if Pete _did_ break anything, or if it just came like that. They’d grown a lot closer in the month or so since Patrick’s party. Anyone who was willing to assist with Pete’s antics was someone he considered a friend. He was also beginning to find her company considerably more tolerable than what it had been at the start of their tour. Even despite that every second conversation was her reprimanding him for something. After a few minutes of static silence Pete threw a chip in her vague direction. She looked over at him in confusion.

“How’s things with you and lover boy?” He asked with an eyebrow raised. She rolled her eyes.

“How’s things with you and your girlfriend?” She shot back, voice laced with sarcasm.

“Good, actually.” He nodded. The confused stare he got in response urged him to continue. “We, uh… we didn’t break up this time, we’re going to try the long distance thing.” It was still a concept that didn’t sit well with him, but he figured if Patrick could work it out, then so could he.

“Oh. Well, good for you guys. I hope it goes well.” She smiled back at him, reaching across the table to grab a handful of chips. He pulled the bag away from her as he clicked his tongue.

“Nuh-uh. Answer my question.”

 

She let out a heavy sigh. “That should be pretty self-explanatory, Pete. He’s on tour with his _girlfriend_.” Since coming back onto the tour she was trying her best to ignore the changes that had occurred in their month off. Patrick’s hair had grown out quite a bit, nearly coming down to his shoulders. He also seemed very attached to his new hat, she was yet to see him without it. In addition, and probably the most hard-hitting change, they hadn’t spoken except for their brief exchange in the airport. It was odd going from being attached at the hip to suddenly having a minimum ten metre gap between you at all times.

“That doesn’t mean shit. She goes home after two shows and you’re still here.” He finally offered the bag over to her and allowed her to take a handful.

“They won’t break up just because she goes home. Patrick’s not like you.” She laughed dryly, trying to avoid the slightest amount of hope sitting in the back of her mind that maybe Patrick _was_ like Pete.

“I take offense to that.” He gasped. “But you never know. Crazier things have happened.” He shrugged, stuffing a wad of chips into his mouth.

“Yeah, like you being a bass player in a band when you’re terrible at it.” She grinned.

“You’re sho mean ooday.”  He garbled, spraying chips over the living room table.


	14. A Reception Less Than Warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s Chicagoan, for the record.

**Saturday, 16 th of June, 2007 - Portland, Oregon **

‘Tense’ would’ve been the appropriate word to explain how the atmosphere had changed between their first and second leg. Patrick didn’t want to abandon his girlfriend when she didn’t know anyone else, but nobody wanted to hang out with him when he was busy fawning over her. The awkward love triangle that now existed also wasn’t fun for anyone and they all felt like they had to walk on eggshells to make sure they didn’t say something out of line. As a result, Patrick and his girlfriend just spent all of their time together. He found himself feeling isolated and like a socialite all at the same time. At the Washington show he spent more of his time showing her around than actually doing sound check and making sure he was ready to play, leaving most of the band rolling their eyes every time he stopped in the middle of his checks to explain something to her (though, Pete could hardly complain when he dropped his bass in an attempt to reply to a text from his _own_ girlfriend). Everyone had the nagging feeling that six was a crowd, particularly considering that there were only six beds on the bus that were all already taken between the five of them and the driver. Even Patrick had to admit that sharing his bunk wasn’t enjoyable and it was not something he had entirely thought through. He didn’t like cramming himself into one at the best of times and having to share that space was fairly uncomfortable, even despite the company. They made the three hour drive to Oregon through the night after their first second leg show and then had the day to either explore what they could before the show in Portland or sit around on the tour bus. After a restless night’s sleep, nobody felt much like walking around before they had to play a set.

 

The summer air was finally starting to have that dense, humid heat to it and they were fast realising that six was also a crowd when you’re all crammed into a tiny lounge room with sticky leather seats. Patrick had been sent on a coffee run with his girlfriend so that everyone else could get some space from ‘Oh, no way, that’s _my_ favourite too!’ before they did something they’d regret. Despite removing a third of their numbers, the bus did not cool down any and in fact only seemed to grow warmer as the minutes passed. “Is it just me, or is the tour bus stuffy?” Pete thought aloud as his eyes scanned the wall for an air conditioning panel or at least a fan. Andy nodded in agreement from behind his book. Joe jutted his foot in the direction of the kitchen, where he could vaguely see the controls for a central cooling system. “Wow, they really went all out.” He muttered as he forcibly removed himself from the couch that was stuck to the underside of his thighs and walked over to it.

“Yeah, they fucking better have after making us sort our own shit out for the first leg.” Joe grumbled as he sprawled across the couch into Pete’s now empty space.

“I’ve heard around the office that if Pete didn’t cost you guys so much money on those paintings he so desperately needed, the tour would’ve been like this the whole way through.”

“Look, I know you work for our boss and all, but can we not talk work when we’re dying of heatstroke?” Pete glared down at the girl lying on the linoleum floor of the kitchen. “Why are you even down there?”

“It’s cooler.” She shrugged lazily.

“Nothing is as cool as me, babe.” He winked. She rolled her eyes as a chorus of groans sounded from the lounge room.

 

He fiddled with the dials on the wall, trying to work out how to turn the bus into an ice arena as soon as physically possible. He would much rather be freezing to death than slowly melting. As he pulled the dial as hard as it would go to the cold side, he felt it snap off in his fingers.

“Oh… I… Uh…” He stammered quietly to himself, trying to fit the dial back onto the switch before anyone noticed. At the sounds of Pete’s panic she sat up off the floor, trying to see what he was hiding.

“What did you do?” She asked in suspicion.

“Nothing.” He lied as she got to her feet and grabbed his hand. Upon seeing the now totally out of shape and half broken dial that would definitely not fit back on the wall panel, she glared at him.

“Oh… my God…” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

“Actually, just Pete is fine.” He shot back with a shit eating grin.

 “How do you always do this shit?” She muttered in exasperation as she tried to fit the deformed piece of plastic back to the wall. “I don’t even know why I asked to come back.” She added under her breath.

“You… You asked to come back..?” Patrick interrupted.

 

She turned around in surprise to see that Patrick was now standing in the doorway behind them, take-away coffees in hand. He looked like he’d just been slapped in the face.

“Uh… yeah, I did.” Her face burning up from the admission. There was a moment of silence as he stared at her in confusion, the tension building between them.

“But you… why?” He frowned down at the coffees in his hand.

“She couldn’t get enough of the Wentz magic.” Pete declared loudly as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I know she was hired to babysit me, but-” he moved his hand to next to his mouth in an attempt to seem secretive, “-I’m pretty sure she’s in love with me and bribed the label.” He whispered loudly. She elbowed him harshly in the ribs.

“I did not, Pete.” She growled through gritted teeth as she shrugged his arm off.

“No, you’re right. It’s because I stole some shit while we were on break. She found out and told them her role was still necessary.” He lied. She opened her mouth to correct him before realising that he was trying to cover for her.  Her mouth slowly closed as she tried to work out why Pete was doing this for her. It wasn’t exactly like him to put himself on the line for others. In her deliberation, it seemed that Patrick was happy enough to accept that as an answer, or just happy enough to leave the conversation, pushing his way past them still half hidden behind his hat. His girlfriend followed closely behind, seemingly oblivious to how awkward that interaction had just been, as they made their way into the lounge. Pete went to walk off as well but she caught his hoodie sleeve and pulled him back towards the front of the bus.

“Why did you lie for me?” She asked lowly.

“Don’t friends do shit like that for each other?” He said with a shrug, slipping his sleeve out of her grasp and going to get his cup of caffeinated sugary goodness.

 

They still had a few hours before they needed to go into the venue for sound check, and drinking their coffees could only fill that void so much. Eventually people either decided to watch a b-grade action movie playing on a local TV station in the lounge, or opted to sit in the tiny dining area and play cards. As time passed, the damage that Pete had done became apparent. Slowly but surely their tour bus began freezing from the inside out. The warm, humid air from outside the bus was almost causing condensation on the inside of the windows because they were so cold. Their breaths were ever so slightly foggy and bones starting to feel an unusual level of chill. Blankets were pulled from bunks to go across couches and shoulders, layers were piled on. Pete was overjoyed that his plan had worked; he wouldn’t have to face the summer heat. However the full time worrier and part time loss prevention representative wasn’t willing to survive a month in a cooler. She had tried at least a million times to fit that dial back on the wall, but it was no use.

 

“We need to call someone to fix this as soon as they can.” She huffed, a slight shiver finding its way into her voice as she fished her phone out of her pocket. Maybe she could find a nearby mechanic that might be able to help.

“It’s really not that bad.” Joe shrugged from underneath his three jumpers.

“Just rug up.” Andy added, throwing a beanie towards her from where he was laying in his bunk, under a blanket.

“Why do you guys have all this? It’s _June_. I didn’t pack for cold weather.”

“We Chicagonians are always prepared for winter at any given time.” Joe stated matter-of-factly, throwing an ace onto the table.

“I don’t think that’s a word. Or true.” She said as she rifled through her bag in the hopes of finding more than the one jacket she knew she packed.

“Chicag-ish..?” He muttered to himself, stroking the stubble that was forming on his chin.

“Chicagonese.” Pete corrected. He took the cards back and began shuffling the deck.

“You’re both idiots.” She grumbled as she pulled on an extra pair of socks.

 

“Just borrow my hoodie.” Patrick called from the back lounge. Looking up at the source of his voice, she saw him sitting across the couch at the back of the bus with his girlfriend’s legs resting across his lap. She tried not to wince at the sight but the uncomfortable feeling of jealousy still settled itself at the bottom of her chest. As she glanced down at the bus floor in an attempt to not have to look at the scene in the lounge, she saw the offending blue and white hoodie that he was referring to.  She didn’t overly _want_ to be borrowing Patrick’s clothes at this particular point in time, but she also didn’t want to freeze to death.

“Are you sure?” She asked hesitantly, almost certain she could feel Pete’s eyes boring into the back of her head.

“Yeah, I mean it hasn’t been washed since we left for tour, but it should still be pretty clean.” He shrugged. After one last moment of deliberation, she picked it up off the floor and pulled it over her head.

 

It was definitely a few sizes too big, but that just made it a perfect defence from the onslaught of cold from the central cooling vents. The sleeves went down past the tips of her fingers and the hood would most certainly cover her nose if she had it up. He had been right that it was still mostly clean; the smell of washing powder still lingered on it and she couldn’t see the tell-tale stains that normally adorned their tour clothes. However, the undeniable smell of Patrick also lingered the threads, much to her annoyance. She walked over to where Joe and Pete were playing cards and sat next to Joe, while Pete just stared at her expectantly from across the table.

“What?” She asked with a frown.

“Nothing,” He shrugged. “I’m just surprised you don’t want a moment alone with the hoodie, is all.” He added quietly. She kicked him under the table as hard as she could muster, earning a loud yelp from him.

“Shut the fuck up.” She growled at him, picking a card up from the table and flicking it into his forehead. Joe quietly sniggered next to her.

 

They finally got called into the venue for sound check and were freed from their wintery prison of mild boredom. As much as she hated to admit it, the hoodie was oddly comforting. The sudden change in temperature to summer heat wasn’t enough of a motivator for her to part with it, instead rolling up the sleeves and continuing to work with it on. She hated how quickly she had already grown attached to it and how quickly it had dredged up things she was trying to ignore for the greater good. Patrick hated how good she looked in it.


	15. Seasons Change but People Don't

**Tuesday, 19 th of June, 2007 - San Francisco, California**

Summer heat was always a fond reminder of so many great things. Of pools at friends’ houses, of backyard barbecues, of trying to eat ice creams before they melted, of late sunsets and later nights looking at summer night skies. It was also a reminder that wearing a hoodie was a stupid idea. When it was hot enough that the venue had started handing out bottles of water to people waiting in line, it was maybe a sign to take the extra layers off. But instead of being logical, instead of avoiding heatstroke, running into it headfirst for the sake of wearing an article of clothing with a ridiculous level of attachment after only three days seemed like a much better idea. She hadn’t parted with the hoodie since Patrick had loaned it to her, save for whenever she had to shower. As much as she told herself it was stupid to hang onto it, she felt like if she couldn’t have Patrick, at least she could have this. To save herself from at least _some_ of the heat, she stuck to the inner areas of the venue when she could. Corridors and equipment rooms were a lot colder due to their bricked walls and concrete floors, they were also a lot quieter than being present for sound check or being anywhere near the now masses of people waiting outside. She knew she was meant to be keeping an eye on Pete, given that was what she was being paid to do, but he seemed to be behaving himself since the air conditioning incident and a harsh phone call from the label about how it cost them a couple hundred dollars to fix it. Sticking to the maze of hallways also allowed her to continue avoiding Patrick. His girlfriend had gone home two days ago, but if she had been hesitant about being close to him before, him being taken only made that far worse. She knew full well that if she let him back in, she’d only be signing up to spend at least 50% of her time being jealous.

 

She slumped down against the wall, feeling the cold from the bricks seep through after a few moments. Sound check had stopped a few minutes ago, the bass had stopped reverberating through the walls, which meant that the guys were likely back in their dressing room killing time until they had to go on. Once they were on she could go hang out side stage to keep an eye on Pete, but until then she figured she could continue hiding from the heat. And Patrick. But as if on cue, as soon as she was sat on the ground, the man himself rounded the corner. It took her a second to register who was headed her way, leaving her very little time to scramble back to her feet and even less to attempt a getaway. She opened her mouth to make an excuse to leave.  

“No. _No._ ” He held a hand up to silence her before she could even think of what she was going to say. _“_ Why are you avoiding me?” He asked abruptly.

There was no reasonable sounding lie to offer. “Because I don’t want to see you hanging out with your girlfriend.” She shrugged.

“You and everyone else.” He scoffed under his breath. “But,” He looked around over dramatically for a moment before turning back to her, “she’s not here now. She hasn’t been for days.” He pointed out with an eyebrow raised. “And I’m getting sick of people dodging me like I’ve got the plague.”

“That doesn’t mean that she doesn’t exist.” She argued. He stared at her, waiting for her to explain what she meant. “Even if she’s not here you’re still on the phone to her, still talking about her.”

“You guys do have your _own_ lives.”

“It’s just not overly fun to be around.” She admitted quietly.

He spent a few seconds trying to process this information. “Wait, are you… are you jealous?” He asked with wide eyes. As much ‘no’ is what came out of her mouth, the blood rushing to her face almost certainly betrayed those words.

 

Despite her best stuttered protests that she wasn’t jealous of his girlfriend, a definite contradiction while still wearing his hoodie, he’d already gone off on his own mental tangents. “I don’t get it. You told me to forget it, so I did. I don’t…” He took a step back from her, shaking his head. “What’s the problem? Why are you still avoiding me?” He sounded like he was mostly talking to himself. Certainly she was happy to pretend that was the case and not have to answer. “Ugh…” He pushed his glasses down slightly, pinching the bridge of his nose and scrunching his eyes shut. “For someone who isn’t into me you sure like to make me think you are.”

“I never said I wasn’t into you.” She instantly blurted out, ever argumentative and keen to be right. As soon as she said it though, she wished she could take it back. But it was far too late for that now. His eyes shot open and stared back at her, and as much as she wanted to look away, she couldn’t. The silence that passed between them was deafening and her heart felt like it was running a mile a minute.

“What?” He asked eventually with a confused frown.

“I never…” She tried to swallow the harsh lump that had formed in her throat, “I never said that.”

He glanced down at the ground for a moment, opening and closing his mouth in an attempt to find the words he wanted to say. But he was unsuccessfully trying to catch up to the cogs in his brain turning. “Then why are we even doing this? If you’re so _into me_ why are we constantly going around in circles?”

 

This conversation was the last discussion she wanted to be having right now. She would’ve given anything to never have to have it and to just continue ignoring any and all Patrick-related emotions. A large part of her hoped that the wall behind her could just envelope her and allow her an escape, but it looked like it was too late for that. She’d finally crossed that fine line one too many times and been called out for it. “Because it won’t – it can’t work out between us.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I _do_ know that.” She really wanted to leave this room. The constant internal battle between logic and heart was easy enough when she didn’t have to directly face Patrick, but when she did the previously sound arguments seemed to fall apart at the seams.

“You’ve been hanging out with Pete too much.” He lowered his glasses, rubbing his eyes tiredly. 

“No, Patrick. This isn’t me being pessimistic.”

“Then what? What is it that’s the big issue?” His voice had started to raise at this point, the pre-show nerves and energy cutting his temper short.

“Because eventually the tour will end and we part ways” She answered.

“There’s always more-”

“Or I’ll get a different job.”

“Well, I’m sure-”

“Or god forbid things just genuinely don’t work out between us. And then where does that leave us? Where does that leave _you_?” She paused for a moment, trying to regain her conversational bearings and not get distracted by the man in front of her. “Worse for wear, heartbroken and better off where we started before anything happened.”

 

“Well, I’m willing to risk it.” He said instantly as he went to close the distance between them. A little voice in the back of his mind reminded him that somewhere, he still had a girlfriend. But that was a problem for future Patrick.

She placed a hand firmly on his chest, pushing him back. “I’m _not_. I’m not willing to risk hurting you.”

“Hurting _me_?” He asked in surprise. “What does that have to do with anything?”

 “I’m not letting you put yourself on the line.”

“I’m an adult; I can make my own decisions.” He frowned, suddenly feeling like a kid being told he wasn’t tall enough to ride the rollercoaster.

“Not this one.” She shook her head firmly.

“I… what?” His brain was reeling at this point and trying it’s absolute hardest to catch up to the events of this conversation. “Who put you in charge of my wellbeing?” He asked bitterly.

“Your _boss_.” She shot back, leaving him wide-eyed as the realisation hit him hard. “I’m here to look after the band and make sure you guys don’t make any stupid decisions. Letting you do this,” She vaguely motioned in the space between them, “is the very definition of a stupid decision. I’m not being fired over this, especially if it’s only going to end in both of us getting hurt.” He stopped in his tracks at that. As he opened his mouth to try and get some clarification, Joe rounded the corner.

“You guys ready?” He asked, motioning back down the hall he had come down.

“Yeah, we’re all sorted here.” She answered harshly, meeting Patrick’s gaze once more before walking off in the direction Joe had come from. 

 

Patrick had royally misjudged this whole situation and had only made it so much worse in this process. He was beginning to realise that everything was so vastly different than what he had thought it was as the pieces began to fall into place. His entire point of view had been shoved into a different direction. Things that had been said and done suddenly held new meaning. He never in his wildest dreams assumed that his feelings were reciprocated, she felt so out of his league and he was beginning to think that she must be into Pete with how close they’d been since his birthday. And had someone told him that these feelings were not only mutual, but that the other party had the exact same fears that he himself did three months ago about the label, he would’ve told them they were crazy. She _worked_ for the label; surely she’d be able to get away with more than the money-pit of a band that was Fall Out Boy? What did she have to be worried about? Everything about that conversation had gone so wrong. All he had wanted was answers as to why he felt abandoned on his own damn tour, and now he just felt like he’d been punched in the chest. He found himself stuck on her words of not willing to risk hurting him. The feeling of guilt sunk down to the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want her worrying for him; he did enough worrying for everyone he’d ever met. How could he convince her that they could work it out? He anxiously paced the hallway for a few minutes, replaying the conversation in his head over and over and over until he felt a headache forming behind his eyes. Overthinking was getting him nowhere, and he had a set to play in half an hour.

 

He resigned himself to playing the show and sorting everything else out after, even if he had absolutely no clue how he was going to achieve that. During the show everyone could tell his head was wasn’t in it. He struggled to keep his fingers on the right chords, strumming slightly out of time and finding himself letting the crowd sing half the songs so that he didn’t have to. In true Murphey’s Law style, he also snapped a string and had to run side stage to grab his backup guitar to finish the song while they restrung the Gretsch. He made his best effort to not make eye contact with anyone as he did so, for fear of having to make awkward eye contact with anyone who may or may not be watching the show. He just wanted to curl into a ball and not have to deal with anything, especially not the grave he had now dug himself. It became apparent during the set that the new hat didn’t seem like such a smart idea, now that he realised it wasn’t as easy to hide behind as his old one. And when he felt her gaze watching him from side stage he wanted nothing more than something – _anything_ to hide behind. It felt like an eternity before they finally finished their encore and retreated back to their private hotel rooms for the next two nights. He closed the door behind him, slumping his back against it and letting out a sigh. When he finally looked up and took in the room that the label had booked, he could see his hoodie folded up and returned on the bed. _Fuck_. He had to fix this.


	16. I'm Not a Shoulder to Cry On

**Thursday, 21 st of June, 2007 - Los Angeles, California **

The drive from San Francisco to Los Angeles was fairly short. Despite this, they still had to wake up early and leave their plush hotel beds in order to make sound check in time. The small coffee machine managed to wake them up enough to cope. However, much to Joe’s dismay, it turned out that getting up early wasn’t required anyway. They made good time on the trip, the driver said something about getting every green light, which left them with a little while to kill time before being required at the venue. The weather wasn’t _too_ sweltering hot, so they figured they might as well see the sights of LA. Or, as many sights as you can see on foot. They piled out of the bus, heading in various directions in search of food or something to look at. Patrick spied their red-headed drummer walking at a brisk pace down one of the café strips and started jogging to catch up with him.

 

“Andy!” He shouted once he was within a decent distance. Andy turned around to look at him, watching as he jogged up to a halt. “Buddy, pal.” He continued, grinning at the drummer and pretending he was not out of breath. He only eyed him suspiciously in return. “Just the man I wanted to talk to.”

“Oh?” He asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Let me buy you a coffee.” He offered, motioning inside the café they were standing in front of. Andy looked up at the window in front of them, seeing it emblazoned with some fancy lettering and many disclosures about being vegan, cruelty free and all made from scratch. In all honesty, it looked expensive, even for what it was, and like it wouldn’t be worth the high price tag. But he wasn’t going to complain if he wasn’t paying.

“What have you done?” He asked, turning back to the singer.

“Nothing.” Patrick lied. Andy just stared at him. “Okay, okay. All will be revealed in due time.” He assured, pushing him through the glass doors. Andy rolled his eyes, already sensing what he was walking into but knowing if he didn’t do it now, Patrick would only force it on him later.

“I want a cake as well.” He muttered over his shoulder as he was forced to sit down at a table.

 

The two of them sat there munching on their baked goods in silence. Andy had assumed when he had been dragged inside for conversation that talking would actually be occurring, but it seemed that Patrick had cold feet all of a sudden. “We’ve been back on tour less than a week. What is it that you’ve done now?”

He chewed on his bottom lip nervously. “You remember our last conversation?”

“When you dragged me into your hotel room?” He asked. Patrick nodded, fiddling with the side of his glasses. “Yes.”

“How I said that maybe finding a girl to distract me might help?” Andy made a noise of confirmation as he took a sip of his coffee. “Well… as it so turns out, having a girlfriend didn’t.” Patrick huffed, feeling his face burn up in embarrassment.

“What a surprise.” Andy gasped over dramatically. “And did it also turn out that your feelings were not one-sided?”

 “It, uh… yeah, it did.” He admitted sheepishly.

“You need to listen to me more, kiddo.” He sighed. “But, hey. Now you can ask her out, right?” He asked, leaning across the table to light-heartedly punch Patrick in the shoulder.

“No, not really. I might’ve screwed it all up. It turns out she’s worried about something happening because of what the label might do about it, particularly if things go south.” He explained, taking a bite of the chocolate cake that he had ordered.

Andy nodded thoughtfully. “So what are you gonna do now? Fake your own death?”

Patrick laughed dryly. “It’s tempting.” He muttered as he stared down into the swirls of milk in his coffee. “What do I do, Andy? How do I fix this?”

“You need to work this out yourself, man. I can’t rescue your love life for you.” He shrugged. “I can offer you somewhere to start, though.”

 

**Friday, 22 nd of June, 2007 - Los Angeles, California **

The Los Angeles show went a lot smoother than their San Francisco show. The band was able to play as a cohesive unit, nailing their set list and even chucking half of an extra song in on the high of playing a good show. Patrick’s heart seemed more in the music, and when he was happy, Pete was happy. When Pete was happy, everyone else was content that nothing was going to get broken. Their next stop was Vegas, and the trip was only short. As a result they had a comfy bed for the night and an almost-sleep-in drive to the venue. The McDonalds drive through breakfast also allowed everyone to be full, happy, and caffeinated. Pete sat on the lounge couch, happily fiddling with his Happy Meal toy as pressed his phone against his ear with his shoulder. His girlfriend had just finished her shift at work and he had agreed to chat if he was free at the time. This was the first time that things had gone so well between them and he had to admit, it felt oddly nice. He was almost falling into a sense of routine with it. It almost felt secure. _Almost._ He felt like if he could keep it going through this tour, he could keep it going for good. When the call finally ended, everyone else clambered into the lounge with him and shoved a disc into the DVD player.

 

Halfway through the movie, absolutely nobody was paying attention. It was nearing on lunch time and the drive through goodness had long since been forgotten. The conversation had dissolved into the foods they were craving from back in Chicago. It had only been a week, but there’s just nothing like home when it comes to favourite restaurants.

“I’m telling you, there’s this great place on Roscoe that does _the best_ mac and cheese.” Pete said, trying to keep himself from drooling at the memory. Patrick made a grunt in agreement, nose stuck in the book he had been trying to finish since Oregon.

“Did they not used to _exclusively_ sell variations on mac and cheese..?” Andy asked with a frown.

“They did!” He beamed.

“That’s not healthy.” The drummer muttered under his breath.

Pete ignored him and continued anyway, “Their hot and spicy mac was the best.” He said, his eyes almost glazing over at the thought. “Me and Trickster used to go there every Wednesday.” He wrapped an arm tightly around the man in question, pulling him into his chest.

“No wonder you were always comatose every Thursday practice.” Joe laughed loudly.

“We should go back. You can bring your girlfriend; it can be like a double date!” Pete started excitedly, shaking Patrick’s shoulders under his grip.

“We broke up.” Patrick mumbled quietly.

 

The bus fell silent at the sudden news. Nobody was sure if they’d heard Patrick right or not. Andy looked out of the back window nonchalantly as the other three looked between each other in confusion. Pete had a chill run through his bones, leaving him feeling like he’d just had a bucket of ice water thrown over him.

“What?” Joe asked eventually.

“We broke up.” He repeated, slightly louder this time.

“When?” Pete frowned. He tried to think back to any time he had seen them arguing before she left. He was sure that things had looked pretty solid between them. Though, he hadn’t exactly hung around too much between talking to his own girlfriend and not wanting to be a third wheel.

“Yesterday. I called her after sound check.” He explained, still not looking up from his book.

Pete felt this sinking feeling settle in his chest, threatening to pull him under. “Why?”

Patrick shrugged. “I dunno.” His eyes flicked up from the pages, meeting hers across the lounge. “My heart just wasn’t in it, I guess.” He added. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks. Andy snorted with something that sounded like laughter, but he covered it up with a cough.

 

“I, uh – I gotta go… do something.” Pete stuttered out as he scrambled to his feet. He glanced around the bus for a moment, seeming like he was looking for something, before climbing into his bunk and pulling the curtain shut. Joe watched him curiously, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned to Patrick.

“Welcome back to the bachelors club.” He grinned, holding his fist out for Patrick to fist bump. He stared at him for a moment before rolling his eyes and tapping his fist to Joe’s.

“How’d she take it?” Andy asked, still watching the flat landscape roll by behind them.

“Pretty well, considering.” He answered with a relieved sigh. A shout came from the front of the bus telling them that they were going to pull into a petrol station to refuel if they wanted to stretch their legs. The three band members left on the couch stood up and went to leave the lounge, but she caught Patrick’s wrist before he could leave. Ever since he’d revealed this new information, a pit of guilt had been sitting in the back of her mind and slowly growing.

“Please tell me you didn’t break up with your girlfriend for me?” She asked quietly.

“No, I did it for me.”

 

**Friday, 22 nd of June, 2007 – Las Vegas, Nevada **

Their Vegas show didn’t go as well as they had hoped after their high in LA. Ever since they had gotten there Pete had vanished. He was nowhere to be seen for sound check and when he finally rocked up for the show (after Joe running through his bass and mic checks for him), it was like he didn’t want to be there. It seemed that when one member of the band got their act together, another just fell apart. Not that Patrick could be described as entirely having his life together right now. He had thought that maybe ending things with his girlfriend would make things a bit less awkward and maybe give him a chance to clear the air after California, but they seemed to be even more awkward now. He was still being avoided. But at least he was back to his old self on stage. Pete, however, was a terrible bassist at the best of times, so when he wasn’t trying, it really showed. His normal banter with the crowd was either half-assed and slurred into his microphone, or simply non-existent. Thankfully, the crowd didn’t seem to notice. They were either too happy that _the_ Pete Wentz was right in front of them, or too out of their own minds to notice he was out of his. When the show finally wrapped up, he made a beeline to the tour bus. Joe felt like he couldn’t just let him get away with how terrible that show was. Particularly after the fact that he had effectively done _two_ sound checks this afternoon, so he followed in the direction of the bus.

 

He finally cornered Pete rummaging through his bunk.

“What the hell was that today?” Joe asked. Pete jumped in surprise, the top of his head slamming into the bunk above his.

“Ow, what the fuck?” He asked, rubbing the back of his head and moving to sit back on the aisle between the bunks.

“Where were you, man?” He continued, ignoring the pain Pete was groaning about. “I had to do both of our sound checks.”

“What’s it to you?” He spat back, glaring up at the guitarist from the floor.

“To the _band_ , Pete. We need you out there; the music isn’t the same without you and a lot of the kids think you’re the face of this whole thing.”

“I was on the bus, okay?” He answered, pulling out a fresh shirt. He smelled it once to make sure it was at least somewhat clean before changing into it.

“What’s wrong?” Joe asked with a concerned frown.

“Nothing, I’m fine. You wanna go get a drink?” He asked, pulling a hoodie over his shoulders. Joe watched him suspiciously, trying to decipher what was going on in Pete’s head. In the end though, a drink was a drink. And if he went with Pete, that meant he could keep an eye on him. Right?


	17. I'd Kill to Make Them Gold

**Saturday, 23 rd of June, 2007 - Las Vegas, Nevada**

Joe woke up in his hotel room to a pounding headache and a hazy – at best – memory of the events from the night prior. His mouth tasted like he had eaten a dozen rotten cheeseburgers right before he had gone to bed and was about as dry as the Sahara. Nobody was in bed next to him, but from the state of his room he was pretty certain someone else must’ve been in his room with him last night. He glanced around, seeing clothes that he was fairly certain were not his. Thankfully, he didn’t hear a shower running or any other signs of life, so he assumed whoever it was must have already left him to deal with his hangover alone. _What the fuck happened?_ Before he could get his thoughts together, his head spun and his stomach lurched. He quickly rolled over, hauled himself to the bathroom, got rid of the contents of his stomach and then sat on the floor of a cold shower, drinking about half of the water flow before it could even hit the drain. Once he was pretty sure he was close to drowning from excessive water intake, he rested his head back against the tiles, trying to remember what had happened.

 

He remembered going to the bar down the road with Pete and getting a beer. Shortly after that he recalled a couple of fans that had been at the show recognising them and buying them shots. They partied with those guys for a bit before Pete moved onto cocktails and Joe moved onto some form of whiskey that the bartender recommended. And that’s about where he stopped remembering things. He had a vague impression that the bar had closed and they’d gone to a club after that. Looking down at his hand, he saw a smudged stamp on his wrist that confirmed that suspicion. He was sure that he had taken a taxi back to the hotel, but he couldn’t remember for the life of him if Pete had come with him or not. When he finally mustered up the strength to stand up and turn off the stream of water, he took a quick look at his phone. Five missed calls and sixteen texts, more than half of which were from Pete texting him about drinks and girls throughout the night, progressively getting less legible as he got more intoxicated. He called Patrick back, who told him that sound check was in an hour and to get down to the venue. As he pulled his clothes back on, a sense of dread settled in him at the thought that maybe Pete _did_ come back to the hotel with him. Specifically, to _his_ hotel room. He’d done stranger – and less good looking – things in the past while drunk. He quickly checked the clothes on his hotel room floor and verified that they weren’t Pete’s with a relieved sigh.

 

He got down to the venue with two minutes to spare before sound check officially started. The sunglasses he had slipped on weren’t really working for blocking out the sharp glare of the lights that they were testing, but thankfully the painkillers he had taken felt like they were starting to kick in. As he approached the stage, he only saw three of the four people that should’ve been there. Things felt sort of tense as he eyed the trio, but he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to start piecing together why.

“Where’s your kleptomaniac man-child?” He asked, nudging her in the side in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“I thought he was going to be coming with you?” She asked in surprise, taking a quick check behind Joe to make sure that he wasn’t there. He shook his head, instantly regretting doing so when it brought on another dizzy spell and nearly made his stomach flip. “Has anyone seen Pete?” She asked, glancing around the stage. Everyone stayed silent, staring at Joe.

“Not since last night.” Joe mumbled, pressing his sunglasses further into the bridge of his nose in the hopes that maybe the pressure would force his head to stop spinning.

“Did he get back to the hotel?” She frowned. He simply shrugged in response. “I’m gonna go look for him.” She jumped down off of the box that she was sitting on. Patrick nodded in response, watching as she briskly walked off to find their missing bassist.

 

They continued their general setup, trying to get by as best they could without being able to truly finish the sound check when they were a member down. “Joe, can you just tune his bass? It sounded badly out last night and I don’t think anyone has touched it.” Patrick asked, rifling through a box of cables.

“No!” He frowned, picking at his guitar lightly to check that it was at least fairly in tune.

“Joe, please.” Patrick asked again, grabbing a bunch of cords and heading off towards the backstage area.

“I’m not doing his shit _again_.” He grumbled as he put his guitar down.

“Just… take one for the team, would you?” Andy shouted from behind his kit. The guitarist was tempted to groan and whine until he got away with it, but he knew it would only come back to bite them later. So he bit his tongue and began tuning Pete’s bass.

 

Meanwhile, she had stormed off in search of the infamous Pete Wentz. He’d missed two sound checks now, both with absolutely no notice. She tried his cell a few times one the way back to the hotel, only to have it ring out. When she finally made it to his room, she was ropable. His inconvenience meant that the band might have to push back the show time, which meant they were going to lose money, and that all came back on her. She went to knock on his door, but as soon as she put pushed against it, it cracked open.

“Pete, where the hell-” As soon as she stepped foot in the room, she stopped dead. He was lying on his bed, face down in his pillow, jeans and belt still on as though he’d passed out halfway through going to sleep. He looked like he hadn’t moved in a few hours, at least. “Pete?” She tried again, taking a few cautious steps over. When he didn’t reply, the panic set in. She closed the space between them, quickly shoving him over onto his back. There was a patch of drool on the pillow, but no other signs to suggest he was still alive. She watched his body carefully, placing her fingers carefully against the pulse point in his neck. There was definitely some form of movement where his pulse was meant to be, but it was hard to properly pick up. He didn’t move, his eyes didn’t even look like they were moving behind his eyelids. The seconds felt like hours as they each passed, but to her relief, she saw his chest moving with his breath. “Oh, thank fuck.” She muttered. Despite being alive, the bassist certainly seemed fairly comatose. She called his name a few times, shaking his shoulder as she did so, but to no avail.

 

Eventually, she did the only thing she could think to do. She called Patrick.

“Did you find him?” He asked as soon as he picked up. She glanced at the body on the bed.

“Um… yes. Yes, I did. In his hotel room.” She tried her best to keep her sentences coherent, but the worry was entirely evident in her voice and the way her words ran into each other. “But, uh… He’s not waking up?”

“Fuck…” Patrick’s voice mumbled down the line. “Is…” His voice wavered for a moment as he took in a jagged breath, “Is he alive?”

“Yeah, he’s still breathing.” She answered, watching his chest to make sure it continued moving.

“Okay. He’s done this before. I’ll be right there.”

 

Pete didn’t stir the whole time that she anxiously waited for Patrick. She was sat next to him on the bed, trying her best to stay calm. At first she had kept her eyes on him to make sure that he kept breathing, but after what felt like ten minutes, she was pretty confident that he wasn’t going to stop breathing now that he was on his back and not face down in cotton. She took in the scene of his hotel room from her position at the head of his bed, trying to work out what had happened the night before and maybe gather some more details to tell Patrick. There was a significant dent in the wall opposite the bed behind the TV, and when she leaned forward slightly she could see Pete’s shattered phone on the ground at the foot of the bed. Part of her thought that maybe she could check it for what he had been through last night, but in the state the phone was in, nobody was getting anything off of it. Half of his clothes were draped across the chair in the corner of the room, but it didn’t seem like anyone had been here with him. The only other thing it looked like Pete had done in between getting to the hotel room and passing out on the bed, had been to drink the tiny bottle of vodka supplied in the mini-fridge. The empty bottle was sitting on the ground next to the small bin next to the desk. Other than that, the room looked almost unused. He hadn’t event gotten under the duvet.

 

It felt like half an hour, but in actuality it only took Patrick a few minutes to arrive at the hotel room. He pushed the door open, glancing at her for a moment before rushing over to his friend. The first thing he did was check Pete’s pulse before racing around the hotel room, clearly looking for something. He looked a lot calmer than she felt, but she watched the frown on his face grow more concerned as he continued to search.

“What are you looking for?” She asked quietly as he picked up the waste bin, verifying it was empty save for the tiny bottle that had probably meant to be in it.

“What he took.” He answered, grabbing Pete’s arm and pulling him to his feet. “We should take him to emergency. I borrowed one of the stage guy’s cars. Sorry, that’s why I took so long.” She nodded firmly, grabbing Pete’s other arm and helping to haul him to the car.  He made a groan of protest as they shoved him into the back seat, but that was the only noise that he made the whole way to the hospital, eyes still clamped firmly shut. It only took the two of them about fifteen minutes to get from the hotel to holding him up in the waiting room of an emergency room. Thankfully, someone was willing to see him immediately due their lack of knowledge on what had put him in this state. A nurse pushed him away in a wheelchair and left the two of them in the waiting room with nothing more to go off of other than a brief: ‘we’ll let you know.’

 

At first the silence had mostly been filled by the both of them internally panicking. Patrick opted to pace around the waiting room for a while, running a hand through his hair and scrunching his hat up on occasion as he tried to stop himself from freaking out. Hospitals weren’t something he enjoyed, especially not when he was there because of Pete. He stared down any doctor who walked past, hoping they had news for him. But most of them were just passing through. The worry ate away at him. What would he do if something happened to Pete? The band wasn’t a band without him. And what would _he_ do without Pete? They were at each other’s throats sometimes, but when it came down to it Pete was still one of his best friends. He found himself lost in his own mind about how he would get by if anything serious happened to him. Logic dictated that he should be okay, but the thoughts still sat uncomfortably at the back of his mind. Much to her dread, she was left in charge of calling the label and breaking the news to them of what had happened. She was grateful that they hadn’t put the ordeal down to her not keeping a close enough eye on Pete and just happy that he was being treated for whatever he’d done to himself. The band had to be informed next, and after that the venue, just in case they had to cancel the show. Once she had done her job, she was left to stress over her friend. She hadn’t known Pete that long, but she certainly didn’t want to see anything bad happen to him. After half an hour, they had done all that they could to try and sort the situation and nobody had come to tell them anything yet. There was only so much they could fret before it became tiring. They had found a small corner of chairs near the vending machine to occupy while they awaited the news on their bassist.

 

She picked at a loose thread in her jeans, eyeing Patrick across the waiting room as he leant against the wall. A chocolate bar wrapper whizzed past his head and bounced off the wall, landing on the floor at his feet. He glanced at it briefly before looking over to see her staring at him.

“Sorry for having a go at you the other day.” She said. He raised an eyebrow in confusion. “I didn’t mean to drag you into the crap that’s happening on my side of this whole thing; you just… kind of caught me off guard. And I certainly didn’t mean to make you break up with your girlfriend.”

“No, it’s okay, you – you really didn’t. That was all me.” He assured.

“Why did you break up with her, then?”

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how he should answer. He resigned himself to the fact that the truth was the best option. “Because it didn’t seem fair of me to keep dating her when my feelings were elsewhere.” She didn’t seem to react to his answer, he thought maybe he saw her nod but she just continued staring down the hallway that Pete had been taken down. He assumed it probably wasn’t breaking news that he was into her. “I’m sorry for putting you on the spot. I was just angry that everyone was avoiding me.” He shrugged, scratching at one of his sideburns as he stared down at his shoes. “And sorry for being an idiot.” He added under his breath.

“You’re not an idiot, Pat.” She laughed quietly.

“I am. I was too in my own head and too focused on my own issues. But for what it’s worth, I mean, I can’t speak for the label but, uh,” He paused for a moment, making sure to meet her gaze before continuing, “I would never hold anything against you if anything between us went south.” The sincerity in his tone was enough to make her blush. 

 

She couldn’t think of anything to say in response to that, instead standing up and pulling him into a hug. He was taken aback for a moment. He wasn’t expecting anything in the way of affection from her after how things had gone. His brain eventually kicked into gear and he hugged her back.

“Thanks.” She mumbled into his shirt. He went to ask what she was thanking him for, but decided it best to shut up and just enjoy the moment. As he felt himself ease into the contact, he found his worry for Pete subsiding a little. Or, at least becoming a slightly easier to keep under control. In that instant he realised that there was nobody he’d rather have by his side when he was forced into a situation like this. Nobody else that he wanted to be there for him when he was being thrown the curveballs of life. He felt pretty certain that if he had her in his corner, he could face anything and come out of it okay.

“Are we all good now?” He asked quietly. She pulled back from their hug, nodding.

“Yeah, we’re all good.” She smiled.

“Where does that leave _us_?” He asked, the apprehension evident in his voice.

 

Before she had a chance to respond, one of the doctors came wandering into the waiting room, seemingly like he was looking for someone. When he caught sight of the two of them he called them over.

“How is he?” Patrick asked, absently fiddling with the side of his glasses.

“He’s doing okay. He was suffering from alcohol poisoning; we had to get what was left out of his stomach before he digested any more of it.” Patrick wiped a hand down his face, sighing in frustration but thankful that it was nothing more intense than just booze. “We’ve got him on fluids now and he’s just woken up. He’s asking for the both of you.” The doctor led them down the hall towards Pete’s room only to see him come tumbling from his room into the corridor in a rage. He hurled a bedpan down the opposite end of the corridor, shouting something incoherent. The surgery gown that he was dressed in did not leave much to the imagination, but thankfully the drip he was tugging behind him by the cords in his arm at least helped take the attention away.

“No. _NO_. _You_ listen to _me_. I’ve had enough of all the talk on how you’re fucking _saving_ me.” He shouted in the direction of his room.

“Pete!” She called, trying to get his attention away from ripping the needles out of his arm. Upon hearing the noise, he stopped what he was doing and spun around, looking down the hall to see his two friends approaching. He instantly started spewing both of their names from his mouth quicker than they could comprehend. They were fast pulled into a tight hug as he rambled about nurses trying to give him weird crap (one of the nurses could be heard muttering “it’s just electrolytes” under their breath as they left the room and stepped around Pete). “Come on, let’s get you back in your room.”

 

After a few protests from Pete, they eventually got him back into his hospital bed. A nurse came by after a short while to make sure that his drip was still secure. Once everything had calmed down, they each pulled up a chair next to his bed.

“What happened, Pete?” Patrick asked, trying his best not to let the stress come through in his voice.

Pete refused to meet his confronting gaze, instead opting to stare at the TV on mute mounted to the far wall. “I went out with Joe and I let it get out of hand, I guess.” He shrugged. “I didn’t mean to get as drunk as I did.”

Patrick nodded softly, not entirely believing the explanation. “Where did you go?”

“We just went to the bar down the street.” He seemed defensive about his answer and eventually continued when the silence dragged on, “We went to some club after that, some fans said we should go with them. Joe left before I did, about two I think. I don’t know when I left but I walked back to the hotel and must’ve passed out.”

Patrick rubbed his eyes tiredly. They’d been at the hospital for what felt like hours now; the florescent lights were starting to give him a headache. “Why, Pete? You know we have a show tomorrow.”

“I told you, I didn’t mean to.” He was staring down at his hands in his lap, picking at the side of one of his nails.

Patrick sighed, accepting that the answers he was given were all he was going to get. “Okay. Well, I’m glad you’re okay. I’m going to get some air and then come back. Do you guys want anything? Coffee?” He stood up from his chair, pushing it back into the corner of the room. The two of them shook their heads, watching as he left.

 

Pete listened carefully as Patrick’s footsteps gradually grew quieter, waiting until he was definitely out of earshot before speaking. Talking in general still hurt his throat – he felt like he’d been swallowing razor blades all night instead of alcohol. All he could taste in his mouth was copper - but he was never one to stay quiet when he should. Even when his voice came out as more of a harsh wheeze than his normal tone.

“You’ve been awfully quiet.” He noted, turning in his bed to look at her.

She shrugged in response as she looked up at him from her chair. “Just happy that you’re not dead.”

“Did you find me?” He asked. She nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s… don’t worry about it.” She glanced across to the doorway. Too many questions were still playing on her mind from what she had seen when she first found him and she knew that now was as good a time as any to ask. “But, um… what was with the broken phone? And the things you drank from the mini bar? You must have done that when you got back to the hotel.”

 

Pete remained silent for a long while; she thought he might have even gone to sleep at one point before she looked over to see him staring up at the TV. “Don’t tell ‘Trick?” He asked quietly.

“Okay…” She said, frowning in confusion at the sudden level of secrecy.

“I thought that maybe I could do this whole long distance thing this time, because if he could manage it, then surely I could, right? I’m older, I’ve been in more relationships than he has. I _should_ be better at it. But I’m not. And if he couldn’t make it work with his girlfriend then how did I have a hope in hell of making it with mine? When he said they broke up, it rattled me. I went out with Joe to try and distract myself from it but it only resulted in me drunk texting her all night things that I shouldn’t have. By the time I made it back to the hotel, she called me and things… didn’t go great. I threw my phone when she hung up, I grabbed what I could of the mini bar and drank most of it looking for Patrick’s room. When I couldn’t find it, I went back to mine. That’s the last thing I remember.” His head sunk as he finished the story, his hair falling over his eyes. The silence hung between them as she processed everything he had said. He hated having to admit it all, it made him feel more worthless than he already felt. She couldn’t help but feel like he looked like a kicked puppy.

 

“Pete…” She started as she stood up, moving to pull him into a hug.

“No, I don’t need your pity. I’ve already fucked up too many things up today,” He shuffled away from her into the side of the bed. “I don’t need to fuck this up too.” He added under his breath.

“It’s not pity, and you won’t.” She assured.

“I will, I always fuck it all up.” He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them protectively.

“Well, you’re stuck with me until they change my job.” She pointed out with a shrug. He looked up at her to see her smiling at him, and he couldn’t help the small smile that broke out on his face in return. “I’m here if you need me, you’re not gonna screw this up.” 

 

The two of them watched the static filled TV in a comfortable silence until Patrick returned. As much as they had said they didn’t want anything, he returned with fries to share and they were incredibly grateful for them. After a few hours, one of the doctors came in to check on Pete and make sure he was responding to their treatment. He hummed quietly to himself as he walked around checking charts and readings on machines.

“Is he going to be in overnight?” Patrick asked, already prepared to go back to the bus to get some things for Pete. He still had the borrowed car that he mentally reminded himself to remember to return before they left Vegas.

“No, he should be okay to go soon.” The doctor nodded, writing a few things down as he turned to leave the room.

“How soon?” Pete asked, the excitement to leave the hospital seeping into his voice.

“You’re free to go once you’ve had those fluids.” The doctor said, gesturing to the mostly empty bag attached to the drip. He narrowed his eyes at Pete for a moment before turning to his two friends. “Just keep an eye on him.”

“Got it.”


	18. I'll Be Your Best Kept Secret

**Sunday, 24 th of June, 2007 - Phoenix, Arizona**

Pete was discharged from the hospital later that evening and brought back to the tour bus by 7pm. He was asleep by 7:05. They set off on their relatively short drive to Arizona that night, deciding that a real meal and potential lack of sleep was better than more sleep and having to make do with what they hadn’t already devoured in the cupboards. But it’s not like this decision affected Pete anyway, he slept like a log until about 2 the following afternoon. By that point they had well and truly arrived in Phoenix and, unbeknownst to the still sleeping Pete, had finished their sound check for the show that night. Everyone was still unsure if he’d be okay for the show, but the doctors had assured them that he should be fine as long as he takes it easy leading up to the performance. Joe wasn’t mad about having to do a third sound check for their bassist, happy to let him rest if that meant that they might have him on stage. It wasn’t the same without Pete’s rapport with the crowd , or his screaming into the microphone. But as they went through their checks, things finally seemed to feel right again on stage for the first time since they’d gotten back on tour. There was no awkward tension, no angry glances, everyone just seemed happy and like they were having fun. Patrick had many questions that ate away at the back of his mind, but he thought it best to bide his time and let things cool off a bit. He didn’t want to ruin the good thing that it seemed like they had going, especially after what they’d all just been through. They all had high hopes that their show tonight would go well.

 

Pete awoke in his bunk and instantly braced himself for the headache and nausea that he had been expecting after his night of drinking. But as a few moments passed, it seemed like it wasn’t coming. Those fluids the hospital had given him clearly did a better job of curing his hangover than he thought that they had. His heart still felt heavy in his chest from everything that had transpired. The little voice at the back of his mind started to chime in with its usual routine of pessimism and depression, but at least now another voice was there to remind him that his friends gave a shit about him. His friends. His band. What time was it? They had a show today. When Pete finally tumbled out of his bunk, there was nobody to be found. He glanced out of the window at the back of the bus to see the midday sunshine glaring down at the asphalt and decided it was probably best to stay in the bus until they came back. He was relieved that his headache was finally gone, but his stomach still felt weird and his throat still ached. His memory of what they’d actually done to him in hospital was fairly hazy, but he had a feeling that tubes had been down his throat at one point. Certainly that would explain the almost-burn that he felt there now.

 

He realised as his stomach growled loudly that he hadn’t eaten in nearly two days. Sugar. Sugar was what his stomach craved. The words: “you are banned from the gas appliances” vaguely floated around at the back of his mind, but he wanted a Pop-Tart and he’d be damned if he let anyone stop him. He shuffled into the small kitchen, fishing around at the top of the food cupboard for the box that he knew Patrick had stashed at the back. Patrick’s hiding spots were never as good as he thought they were. It was a surprise he hadn’t learned to find new ones after Pete stealing his treats for years now. Pete’s hand came into contact with a rectangular object that felt Pop-Tart-box-y and he pulled it down with excitement, nearly dropping it to the floor in his rush. There was no toaster on the bus, but he assumed that the grill on the oven would do much same job of toasting the delicious sugary goods. He pulled out the metal tray, emptied the contents of the whole box onto it and then crouched down to stare at the dials. In true style of their management, as much as the tour bus _looked_ fancy, the appliances were knock offs. This didn’t help Pete in the slightest as he stared at the foreign language and weird illustrations on the dials, trying to work out which would turn on the grill. He frowned to himself, deciding to try them each one by one until he found one that did what he wanted. 

 

At first, most of them just hissed for a moment before he shut them off. Eventually he came to one on the far end that didn’t make any noise, but it did click. He muttered a few insults about the appliance to himself before going back through the dials, trying to listen closer this time to which one sounded like it was making noise in the grill-area. He wasn’t sure if the fog hanging around his brain was from the lack of caffeine, or the hospital visit, the remnants of his hangover, or maybe it was the seventeen hour sleep, but he just couldn’t get the oven to work. The third to last dial finally sounded like the noise was closer to where he wanted it to be, so he tried it a few times but there was still no heat coming from the grill. He was trying his best not to get angry at the hunk of metal, but the longer he spent trying to work it out, the more his stomach rumbled. And he couldn’t eat these Pop-Tarts _raw_. That’s just not how it’s done. In a moment of brilliance, he finally realised that maybe the clicking dial at the end was an ignitor. He pressed it in, and was suddenly enveloped in a ball of flame. It was gone as quickly as it had come and left him no time to react, but it left a series of black marks and the smell of burnt hair in its wake. He stared at the kitchen in disbelief, unsure if he was still alive at this point in time. When the world didn’t fade to black, he realised he hadn’t been so lucky as to die and not have to face the consequences of this.

“Shit. Shitshitshit.” He repeated to himself as he looked at the charred cupboards. The label was going to destroy his career for this. Pacing the small kitchenette, he tugged at his hair as he tried to work out what to do. He nervously reached out to touch one of the black doors, expecting it to still be hot or to come apart in his hands. Much to his relief, the black marks simply wiped away. “Oh, thank fuck.” He sighed as he grabbed a roll of paper towels and began wiping down the kitchen.

 

When the kitchen was finally free of the evidence of the damage he had done, he removed the pastries from the grill and put them on a plate on the counter. As he put the plate down, he caught sight of the black marks on his hands. _He_ had been in the fire as much as the kitchen had. How much of him was blackened and charred? He raced to the bathroom, analysing himself in the mirror. His face was covered in soot, as were his hands. He quickly wiped himself down to see if there was any damage underneath. Thankfully, his eyebrows were still intact and there didn’t seem to be any burns. He noted that his fringe was a bit worse for wear as he ran a hand through it, but that was nothing that a self-administered haircut and some clever styling couldn’t fix. Knowing that Andy was always prepared for any situation, he fished around in his backpack until he found the scissors he was looking for. Ten minutes and a hack-job of a haircut later, he was applying copious amounts of hairspray and gel to try and get it to look right. When he was finally satisfied with what he had achieved and that it wouldn’t be noticed, he opened a window to air out the smell, replaced the scissors and sat down at the small dining area.

 

Not long after he’d finished the first tart, the four people he had expected to see when he woke up came waltzing back into the bus, chattering amongst themselves. Their voices were quickly hushed as they spotted Pete sitting at the small table, who only watched them quietly. He wasn’t usually quiet… The silence dragged on, a sudden tension filling the air as Joe and Andy shuffled to the back lounge to avoid whatever was coming. She eyed Pete suspiciously, but saw no signs of mayhem in the nearby area. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged around a mouthful of raw Pop-Tart.

Patrick suddenly poked his head around her, spotting what Pete was eating. “Hey, those are mine!” He shouted as he scrambled over to Pete and took the remaining two pastries, seeming to not notice that they weren’t cooked. The two of them ate the sugar coated treats, the sound of their munching being the only noise filling the bus. Pete watched as she stared at the remnants of the uncooked food and walked over to the stove. She fiddled with a few switches but didn’t seem to find what she was looking for. 

“We should attach a flamethrower to my bass one day.” Pete mused, staring down at his now empty hands and wondering if they still smelled like the flames they had been captured in half an hour ago.

“Who the hell would let _you_ have _fire_?” Andy laughed loudly from the other room.

“What gave you that idea, Pete?” She asked as she leaned back against the oven. The accusation was thick in her tone.

“It just came to me. Seemed cool.” He said, refusing to meet her gaze and instead opting to stare at the empty plate. She watched him for a few more moments, but in the end had nothing to hold against him and the tension dissipated.

 

Their concert that night went even better than they could’ve hoped for. Everyone was on their game and playing at their best. Pete started out fairly quiet, keeping his distance from his mic and mostly standing near Patrick as he played. But eventually he came back out of his shell and used the stage as his catharsis. The amount of emotion he poured into the show made it one to remember, both for the fans and the band. They could see he was putting his all into it. By the time he got off stage he was dripping with sweat and grinning ear to ear. The show went so well that they decided to go out for a drink (emphasis on _a_ drink) to celebrate. Pete seemed somewhat uneasy in the bar at first, flinching whenever someone said his name like he was about to be reprimanded, until the five of them settled around a booth and spent most of the night chatting away. Once things felt natural again he was able to relax. But he never ended up finished the one drink that he asked for, it didn’t seem to sit right in his stomach. They didn’t spend long in the bar, their next stop was Dallas and they had a fifteen hour drive to Texas to prepare for. All of them hoped for a good night of sleep before being stuck on the road for two days. Patrick also hoped that the extended period of time in a confined space might work in his favour.  


	19. I Only Waste My Time Dreaming of You

**Monday, 25 th of June, 2007 – Somewhere in New Mexico**

They set off shortly after breakfast the next morning, their driver declaring that he could do eight hours of driving each day. Nobody was about to object, given that he was more or less their only option around the country at the moment. Overnight a steady summer storm had settled in, blanketing the landscape in heavy, grey clouds. The rain was yet to actually fall, but it could easily be felt in the air that it would happen soon. Pete seemed to feel better with the shift in weather. He felt like the rain could wash away any of the remaining misery that still hung around him. As soon as the drops started falling, his mood started lifting. Everyone was relieved to have the mischievous Pete back, even if it meant that it came at the cost of their peace and quiet.

 

They’d been on the road for nearly six hours. The driver shouted something out to them whenever they had crossed the border into New Mexico, but nobody really paid attention, most of them were too busy doing their own thing to be really listening. Patrick sat across the lounge behind their bunks, staring out the window at the road growing behind them. It was always crazy for him to think about how many miles they put behind them every time they went on tour. From planes to cars to buses, the miles piled up by the thousands. He’d done it a few times now, but it never seemed to make any more sense how far people wanted their little band to go. The rain slowly trickled down the glass, his gaze following it as it began to pool at the seal along the bottom. He had decided in his restless night of sleep at the hotel that he had to make a move. Something had to be done to try and make her see that he was serious about his feelings. And he knew that _he_ couldn’t be the one to make the decision, because if it were up to him they would’ve been dating months ago. He had to do something to make _her_ make the call; it was her mind that needed changing. But what was he meant to do? He needed to find the catalyst to make this reaction happen. The special thing that he was meant to do or say, whatever created that spark. He was never good at making the first move, or any moves at all really. Flirting was never his forte.

 

The couch dipped next to him as his face was suddenly pressed into the window. It took him a moment to realised that he had been tackled by someone and they were now leaning against him.

“Don’t take up the whole couch, Patrick.” Joe’s voice chastised as he struggled to free himself. Eventually the guitarist moved to the side, allowing Patrick to shuffle back and move as far away from his assailant as he could. He glared across the couch for a brief moment before returning his gaze to the road. “You look angsty. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Patrick lied with a shrug. The self-depreciating look on his face quickly told Joe the answer to his question.

“C’mon, I know you better than that, dude.” He pressed, motioning to tackle him again.

“Okay, okay!” Patrick threw his hands up in front of him to try and fend off anything else Joe could throw at him. “I’m… I’m trying to work out how to, um, win girls over.” He admitted sheepishly.

“Win girls over? Why? The girl you want is already into you.” Joe laughed loudly.

“Well, kind of. But I need to get her to date me.” He huffed, adjusting his hat so that it was sitting back on his head correctly.

“Oh. Well, girls like confident guys. The sorta guy who knows he’s awesome.” Joe said, running a hand through his hair and clearly picturing himself in some form of shampoo commercial. Patrick stared at him sceptically. Joe _did_ seem to hit it off with any woman he wanted to, and he was pretty sure he’d read somewhere that girls liked confidence.

“Yeah… Confident… Yeah, I could do that. Uh, how do I… be confident?”

 

After a thorough lesson from Joe, Patrick was pretty sure he had a rough idea of how to flirt confidently. Joe had insisted he stop wearing his hat for the night, comb his hair and wear a nicer shirt instead of his stained yellow shirt that he normally wore while they were on the bus. He said something about looks having to match the attitude. Patrick couldn’t say he felt confident, he mostly just felt uncomfortable wearing a button down shirt around the constantly clumsy Pete. Any time he was slouching, Joe would smack Patrick on the back and make him stand up straight. “You have to look like you know what you’re doing” he’d said. Joe’s other advice had been to subtly place into conversation any traits or stories that made Patrick sound good. So, Patrick made sure to be telling stories at all times that painted him in a good light. From winning an award for best group earlier in the year to that one time he got 100% on his maths test in elementary school. Whenever he caught her eye, he made sure to punctuate his sentences with a wink. He wasn’t entirely sure if his efforts were working, she seemed to be smiling at him, but she definitely didn’t seem any more interested in him than normal. In fact, she spent most of the night talking to Pete and giving him sideways glances whenever Patrick would try and bolster his own ego. Despite the smiles, he felt like he was taking more steps back than he was forwards. Maybe Joe’s methods weren’t as good as he had previously thought.

 

**Tuesday, 26 th of June, 2007 – Just Out of Fort Worth, Texas **

It was unanimously decided that sleeping on the bus would be better than sleeping in the roadside motel that looked like it had been hit by a bomb shortly before they arrived in Texas. After a shoddy at best sleep, they set out on the road again. Patrick finally resigned himself to sleep when he decided that being confident was getting him nowhere. The only thing that he was confident about was that the laughs he was getting out of her were not the type that he wanted. Even Joe was sniggering at him. What a great fucking mentor he was. He needed to try something else. But he still had plenty of time. They were about eight hours away from Dallas and had a full day of driving ahead to get there. Patrick tried his best to keep up the bravado attitude just in case it worked for him in the light of a new day, but his faith in it had definitely slipped. When they were about an hour away from their destination, Pete pulled him aside in the kitchen.

“Why are you acting so weird?” He frowned.

“I’m not acting weird.” Patrick defended, brushing out the wrinkles in his button down shirt.

“You’ve been bragging about shit you did when you were _four_ ever since we got on the bus yesterday and when was the last time you wore a suit shirt outside of an interview?” Pete started listing as he jabbed a finger into one of Patrick’s buttons on his chest. “This isn’t like you.” His gaze was scrutinising as it ran over him for any signs of obvious mental damage. Patrick instinctively pulled his hat down. Eventually, the realisation hit him. “Are you trying to _flirt_?” He asked as a grin spread across his face.

“What? No, I just – maybe.” His face burned red at having to admit it.

 

After much pleading, Patrick reluctantly retold his worries to Pete, and explained what Joe had told him and what he was trying to do. Pete listened intently and then took a moment to consider this before speaking. “You got girl advice from Joe?” He asked, trying his best to supress his laughter. Patrick instantly regretted telling him anything. “When’s the last time you saw him with a girlfriend?”

“When’s the last time you held down one?” Patrick muttered under his breath. He received a swift punch in the arm from Pete.

“Fine then, I won’t offer you my help.” The bassist said as he turned on his heel and went to leave. Patrick grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“Sorry. I just… I’m running out of ideas.” He shrugged helplessly, rubbing his now sore arm in the hopes that it wouldn’t bruise tomorrow. Pete ushered him closer, leaning right up to Patrick’s ear like he was about to tell him a secret.

“Girls like the bad guy.” Pete revealed quietly, nodding slightly as he moved away. “Y’know, those guys that break the rules and don’t care about anyone else? That sort of thing.” This suddenly explained a lot about why Pete couldn’t hold down a girlfriend.

“I-I don’t think I can do that, Pete.” Patrick confessed, apprehension sitting uncomfortably in his chest. He was never good at being mean. He was almost always the very opposite of mean unless he absolutely had to be.

“Sure you can!” The older man clapped a hand on his shoulder, dragging him away to a spot to impart his wisdom.

 

Patrick wasn’t entirely sure that he understood Pete’s methods. He knew that he’d lost many girls in high school to guys who seemed like jerks, but he had strong doubts that becoming one was going to get him anywhere. Regardless, with a firm push in the back, Pete threw him into his next round of attempted flirting. Pete’s advice had been to act indifferent, to act like any compliments didn’t faze him and to be sarcastic in as many responses as he could. Patrick was pretty proud of his efforts all things considered. He was able to keep himself fairly cold for the remaining half hour of their journey and then also at dinner that evening. Playing the jerk was a lot easier than he had thought it would be. At one point he had deliberately been mean to their waiter at the restaurant but all it got him was a slap on the back of the head from Andy who then apologised for his “idiot friend’s actions.” He even went as far as to outright ignore her. When they were back at their hotel she had approached him to tell him something and he pretended to be getting a phone call and walked away without saying a word. He couldn’t say these methods felt like they were working any better than Joe’s. They seemed to be doing worse than Joe’s advice even. At least when he was trying to be confident she was still smiling at him. Now all he was getting were looks of confusion and hurt. It left him with a sinking feeling in his chest and the thought kept him from sleep that night.

 

**Wednesday, 27 th of June 2007 – Dallas, Texas**

They had four days in Texas until they had to leave, enough time to actually get out and about to see the city. Rarely did they have enough time to properly see anything whenever they stopped somewhere, so the prospect of having three full days with nothing planned was almost a foreign concept to them at this point. It had been agreed upon that on the night before the show that they should go do something special, but leading up to that they were all left to their own devices. That morning, Andy had decided to go for a walk to investigate the buildings surrounding their hotel. Nothing interesting was open so early on a Wednesday morning, it was mostly just the odd café that had a few patrons sitting around drinking their morning coffees. A few buildings looked like they might have some historic stories to tell, but it’s not like there was anyone around to tell them. As he approached the next small coffee shop on the strip, he spotted a slouched Patrick sitting out the front. He had an empty coffee cup sitting in front of him, but it looks like it hadn’t stopped him from falling asleep in his chair. A part of Andy wanted to pretend that he didn’t know the man drooling into the hand he was resting his chin on, but he knew he would only feel bad for it later.

 

He made sure to scrape the chair across from Patrick along the ground as he pulled it out from under the table, startling the younger man and waking him up.

“Oh, uh,” He quickly wiped his hand on his pants and straightened himself. “Hi, Andy. What are you doing out and about so early?” Patrick asked as casually as he could manage, taking a quick glance down the still fairly empty street to make sure nobody else had caught his nap.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He countered.

Patrick shrugged before looking down into his coffee cup. “Didn’t sleep so great. I got down here a few hours ago when they opened, this is my second coffee but clearly it hasn’t helped.” He confessed, fiddling with the spoon sitting on the table.  

“Would this be linked to you acting like an ass for the last two days?” Andy asked with an eyebrow raised. Patrick nodded sadly, resting his head on the table next to his cup and shutting his eyes again. “Are you going to tell me _why_ you’re being weird?” He prodded. Patrick let out a loud sigh.

“I suppose so.”

 

After retelling the story, _again_ , Patrick felt no better about his flirtatious efforts. He felt even worse when Andy finally voiced his thoughts on the matter. “Are you telling me right now, that Pete – Pete the boy who writes songs about breaking girls’ hearts – gave you advice on winning over a girl and you _listened to him_?” He asked as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I, uh, I guess?” He admitted in embarrassment, moving his head to be resting his chin on the table and looking up at the drummer. Andy let out a groan of frustration.

“Why, Patrick? And Joe? When was the last time he had a girlfriend?” He asked.

“That was what I said!” He said, but he only felt Andy’s annoyance growing.

“All right. Well, you fucked up.” Patrick’s face fell. “But you might, and boy do I mean _might_ , still have a shot.” Andy continued.

“How?” He asked eagerly, sitting upright in his seat and giving his full attention.

“You gotta try to make up for all the shit you’ve said and done over the past two days. You are going to be nothing but nice, an absolute gentleman. Only say nice things, go out of your way to do the right thing and just generally be overly kind. Got it?” Patrick nodded vigorously.

 

So Patrick did exactly that. When they returned back to the hotel that day to meet up for lunch, he had done a complete flip on his actions the day prior. He made sure to open every door he came across before anyone else could get to it and hold it open, he organised any and all appointments that needed to be booked for the band to save somebody else having doing it, he offered to carry bags to and from rooms, he took coats, he pulled out chairs, he even paid for dinner that night. For _everyone_. Nobody was really sure what to say, it wasn’t uncharacteristic of Patrick to be nice but this was a step up even for him. He felt like he was doing a good job at redeeming himself. Later that night he decided to go for a walk to try and clear his head about what to do next, only to catch sight of someone unloading the bus and putting a bunch of their equipment onto a trolley. His heart caught in his throat when he realised someone might be stealing their stuff. He broke into a jog as he raced over to their bus.

“Hey! What are you-” As he shouted out, the all too familiar face spun around, he realised his mistake. But it was already too late. When she heard him shout and spun around to see who it was, her grip on the she had been holding faltered. Patrick watched as the amp painfully slowly tumbled down and landed on her foot. He hadn’t realised that he’d been standing still until he heard the string of curses falling from her lips at the pain as her knees buckled under her.

 

He rushed over, pushing the amp aside and kneeling down on the ground next to her.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise it was you.” He wanted to help, to bandage the foot or help her up to get to a doctor, but instead he just held his hands out apprehensively, afraid that if he touched her he might cause more damage.

“It’s okay; I can see why you would’ve freaked out.” She laughed dryly, wincing when she went to put pressure on the foot.

“Are you all right? Is it broken?”

She shook her head, shuffling to sit back against the bus and straighten out her legs. “I don’t think so. It feels pretty sore though.” She pulled the leg closer to her, starting to undo her laces. “Is the amp okay?” She asked with a nod towards the discarded equipment.

“I’m sure it’s fine.” He couldn’t have cared less about their equipment in that moment, he was far more worried that he had indirectly just broken her foot and she would have to be sent home with only four shows left in their tour. How was he meant to win her over if she was back in Chicago while he was still on the road?

 

As she eased her shoe off of her foot, they both realised it was quickly swelling up. Nothing looked out of place or broken, but it definitely looked uncomfortable.

“We’ve got to get some ice on that… Come on.” Patrick said, wrapping an arm around her and starting to pull her to her feet.

“No, Pat, we can’t.” She protested as she tried to struggle out of his grip. “All of the equipment is out in the open, we can’t just leave it here. It’ll get stolen.” A little part of him wanted to laugh at the thought given that was what he had already assumed was happening. He nodded slightly to himself, realising it was definitely in his best interests to not have to try and replace these things tomorrow. He sat her back down on the ground and started loading it back into the bus. She watched him from the cold asphalt as he methodically went through all of their belongings and tried to remember the order that they had put them into the bus.

“What were you even doing?” He asked absently as he pushed the last box back into place.

“I was moving them into the hotel so that they’d be safer.” She explained. “Probably not the best thing to be doing at night, I’ll admit. But I… felt like maybe I shouldn’t sit around at the hotel.”

He paused for a moment, giving her a curious glance before he helped her up again. “Why do you say that?” He frowned as they began the slow walk back to their rooms.

“You’ve been acting weird. I thought maybe I should keep myself occupied and out of your hair.” She shrugged. Guilt instantly settled in the pit of his stomach. He’d been so caught up in his own head that he hadn’t realised he’d made her feel like she was annoying him. That was the complete opposite of what he had wanted to do.

“I – uh. Yeah, I have been, haven’t I?” He sighed. Maybe he should just scrap the whole damn idea. Being friends was better than pushing her away. “Sorry about that. I’ll stop.”

**Friday, 29 th of June, 2007 - Dallas, Texas **

After a couple of days of rest and ice, her foot was slowly starting to feel a bit better. It still hurt to walk on, but at least she could _kind_ of walk on it now without help. After the incident, it had formed a nasty bruise, so nasty in fact that Patrick insisted she go to a doctor for a second opinion. But they’d told her that it wasn’t anything serious, just a badly rolled ankle and that after a few weeks it should be back to normal. For the moment however, she was confined to the hotel to make sure that she kept off it and kept it elevated. She couldn’t say it was exactly the ideal experience that she wanted in the unfamiliar state. It would have been much more enjoyable to be out seeing the sights and doing things. The boys took turns hanging out with her at the hotel to make sure that she didn’t go stir crazy. More often than not, they all ended up hanging out with her in her hotel room. It didn’t seem right for them to go out without everyone being able to join. However, on the day before their show Joe had insisted he wanted to see a “real Texan rodeo” and wanted everyone come with him. While sitting down at a rodeo didn’t seem like much activity, getting there was another story while on a sore foot. She had told them to go without her, but Patrick offered to stay back and keep her company. He had gone back to his normal self since the accident, realising that the flirting was hindering his chances more than it was helping.

 

It had been about an hour since the other three left, leaving herself and Patrick sitting in his hotel room for a change. He had paid for a movie on the hotel cable but had muted it shortly after putting it on so that he could write. Two notebooks were sprawled across the desk in front of him, one filled with Pete’s messy lyrics and another that he was slowly filling with his own notes. A guitar sat in his lap that he occasionally messed around on whenever he was trying out a melody in his head. His fingers were lightly strumming across it when he finally remembered that someone else was sitting in the room with him. He’d been too caught up in his own thoughts to remember he was meant to be providing company.

“Sorry,” He blurted out as he looked up at her. She was sitting with her back against the head of the bed, watching him curiously. “I’m meant to be keeping you company and I’m being super boring right now.” He moved to put the guitar back in its case.

“No, no! You’re not boring me, I swear.” She shook her head.

“But… I’m just sitting here working.” He frowned in confusion, glancing back at the notebooks in front of him.

“I know. It’s interesting to watch.” She shrugged, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and facing him.

 

He did his best to continue writing and trying to form melodies to fit Pete’s words, but when he knew he was being watched it was hard to keep his mind on track. He looked back up at her, feeling suddenly embarrassed.

“Did you, uh, want to watch the movie?” He suggested weakly. Her face fell a little, she was enjoying trying to work out how his brain was processing the music. He wasn’t entirely sure what he did but he quickly tried to recover from making her feel bad. “Or, I could maybe possibly… show you how I work? Instead of you just watching me with no, um, context.” He added in a voice nearly quiet enough to be inaudible. She nodded eagerly at the offer. Grabbing the notebooks and the guitar, he settled himself at the foot of the bed, facing her at the head of it. He placed the notebooks open in front of him and put the guitar back on his lap. Pete had nearly filled the notebook since she had seen him with it last. Which was unsurprising considering he’d had so much on his mind lately. “Well, normally I start with finding a few of his phrases that seem to line up.” He flicked through the pages, stopping on one that he had dog-eared. He dragged his fingers across the lines that ran into each other, eventually settling on one. “This one here grabbed me earlier. I try repeating them a few different ways in my head to see what sounds right, and then I find a melody.” His fingers found the frets of the guitar and he strummed out a basic rhythm, humming the words quietly to himself.

 

She watched him intently, wanting nothing more than to see his talent in action. Once he fell back into the pattern of work he found himself caught up in it again. He frowned in concentration at the guitar as he changed his chords up and down, trying to find the right sound. Watching his mind decipher the mystery he was trying to solve kept her gaze firmly on him. He seemed so sure of himself around music, so confident in what he was doing. It was a very nice change to see him being himself again, and also to see him in this light. A change that made her feelings for him surge back into the forefront of her mind. She’d always found him a little harder to resist whenever he was actively showing off his musical prowess. He stopped his melodies for a moment, her heart catching in her throat at the fear that maybe he was able to hear her thoughts and she was about to be caught out for them. But he flipped a page in Pete’s notebook and found another line that he had highlighted, tacking it onto the end of the first one. The melody was starting to make more sense now, to sound like it could be a part of something bigger. She could see in the smile playing on his lips that implied he was thinking the same thing. He hit an off note suddenly, his fingers slipping on the strings. The noise dragged him back to reality as he realised he’d zoned out again. 

“Oh, sorry, I guess I got a bit carried away.” He chuckled quietly, setting the guitar to the side.

“N-no, it’s cool.” She blushed furiously, instantly tearing her gaze away from him and back to the muted TV. She felt like she was seeing a side of Patrick that barely anyone got to see. A side that made her question whether she’d been making the right decisions.


	20. I'm a Liner Away

**Friday, 6 th of July , 2007 - Denver, Colorado**

Their show in Texas went well, the crowd ate up their energy and nothing was able to stop them from putting on hell of a show. Things seemed to be back to normal, at least for the mean time. They made their way through to Colorado over a couple of days of driving, leaving them with three full days before their show on Friday. There were only two shows left until their big home town show so the five of them were filled with an odd mix of homesickness and excitement. As a result of this, they spent most of their time in the hotel, lazing around or calling family and friends. They always told people that they were calling to get them to come to shows, they’d never admit that they had been missing them and were calling just to hear their voices again. Patrick had dropped his flirting tactics, deciding that they were more effort than reward. In fact, they had worked out to be quite the opposite of rewarding in the end. He also strangely enough seemed to be having more luck in his romantic attempts without actually doing anything. Since she’d had the chance to see him working on a song she hung off his every word and he was fairly certain that she almost looked at him differently. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he was pretty sure she didn’t stare at him like that last week. He had absolutely no clue what he’d done, but he wasn’t going to object to her wanting to hang out again like they had on the first leg of tour.  Her ankle was still giving her the occasional trouble. Sometimes when she stood on it wrong she couldn’t quite hold the weight and the joint would give out under her. It was an excellent excuse for Patrick to stay by her side, just in case he had to catch her.

 

As much as it all appeared to be slow but sure progress for the potential romance between them, it only infuriated the other three members of the band. They were sick of the constant heart eyes that they stared at each other with, the incessant being attached at the hip and they were _so done_ with all of the half-flirty comments that they threw at each other. The afternoon before their Denver show they had managed to escape the suffocating cupid atmosphere of the hotel and devised a way to get a lunch without the two of them. They found themselves crammed into a diner booth, all happy for the temporary peace.

“We need to do something about them.” Andy said firmly as his eyes scanned over the menu in front of them. He was instantly met with a few mumbled sounds of agreement.

“I just wish they’d stop dancing around the subject and shack up already.” Joe groaned with an eye roll. “They know they’re into each other, why haven’t they?”

“It’s so damn annoying.” Pete huffed under his breath. He had managed to score one side of the booth to himself so he settled his back against the window and had his feet propped up on the empty bench space next to him.

“We just need to shove them in a room together until they fucking sort it out.” Joe said, nodding to himself. He already started planning how to get them to agree to a game of seven minutes in heaven. The cogs in Pete’s brain kicked into gear at the suggestion of locking them in a room. He suddenly realised he was formulating a plan.

“Guys, I might have an idea.”

 

Later that evening before they left the hotel to head to the venue, Pete spotted Patrick leaving their room, guitar case in hand and on his way to the stage. Depending on the price of their hotel rooms, sometimes they ended up with one each, sometimes they ended up having to share. Fortunately for Pete’s plan, he knew everyone’s sleeping arrangements for the night. “Hey, ’Trick?” He called, trying his best to make it look like he hadn’t just been waiting for an hour in the hallway. That he _definitely_ hadn’t been waiting for Patrick to leave their room and he had _very_ casually bumped into him.

“Yeah?” Patrick mumbled as he pulled the door shut.

“Can you do me a favour?” He asked, suddenly taking an interest in his fingernails rather than the man he had called over. Patrick raised his eyebrows, waiting for Pete to continue. “Can you, like… make yourself scarce tonight?” He tried to ask the question with as much disinterest as he could muster. He didn’t want Patrick to catch wind that they were plotting anything.

“What?” The guitarist frowned.

“Tonight, after the show.” Pete elaborated, looking back up to meet his confused stare.

“Make myself scarce? You mean not come back here? To my hotel room?” He questioned. The look on his face was slowly shifting from confusion to anger.

“Yeah. I’m hoping to pick up at the show and it would be a bit awkward if you were here when I got back.” Pete shrugged. The look on Patrick’s face was most definitely anger now.

“You – what? You broke up with your girlfriend all of, what? Two weeks ago?”

“You gotta get back on the horse, right?” He tried to flash his best sleazy smile. In reality he wouldn’t be disappointed if he _did_ come back with someone, but he couldn’t say he could be bothered with the effort of getting someone to like him enough to sleep with him tonight.

 

Patrick was silent for a few moments. Pete was pretty sure that he could see his internal anger thermometer slowly rising as he processed the request. “Where am I meant to go??” He tried his best not to shout, but it was still loud enough to nearly rattle Pete from his cool composure.

“I dunno. Just not here.”

“I can’t sleep in the bus; they’ve parked it a few blocks away in a garage or something.” He pointed out as he took a step towards Pete. “I don’t have the money to book myself another room. I have no idea where the nearest motel would be.” As he continued listing objections, his volume only grew. “So where am I meant to sleep, Pete?” He asked again through gritted teeth, now entirely in Pete’s personal space. For such a small guy, he was incredibly intimidating when he wanted to be. If it hadn’t been a part of a master plan, Pete might have already backed down by now.

“We have three hotel rooms here, don’t we?” Pete had to gather all of his strength to not smile, or giggle, or do anything that would give away that he had been planning this conversation for _hours_. The sheer level of excitement was nearly enough to make him burst. But Patrick didn’t seem to get the hint. “And there’s five of us..?” He continued. Still, nothing. “Each hotel room has two beds in it, yes?” Finally, Patrick seemed to get it. He looked like Pete had just thrown a bucket of ice water over him as he visibly paled. Pete had to struggle to hold it together even more as he looked at his friend’s almost fearful expression. Patrick stammered out a few half sentences, trying to compose his thoughts as they rattled around his head. Before he could get anything out, Pete slapped a hand down on his shoulder. “Cool, so it’s sorted. Don’t come back here tonight unless you wanna see something that will scar you for life.” He grinned, walking away before Patrick could object. For what felt like the millionth time on this tour, Patrick was left standing by himself, frowning at the floor after a conversation that he didn’t quite understand.

 

Regardless of his confusion, Patrick played their show that night like he would any other. He pushed his worries to the back of his mind and focused on his guitar, the microphone, the crowd. Pete and his weird demands could be dealt with later, after he did his job. It wasn’t until he was left standing in front of her door, his hand a few inches away from the wood that the reality of what he had got himself into sunk in. What was he doing? This was an absolutely terrible idea. Why didn’t he object? Was there not somewhere else he could sleep? He bit back the urge to run back down the hallway and rapped his knuckles against the door lightly, refusing to let himself think about it too much.

“It’s open.” Her muffled voice called back. He took in a sharp breath before pushing the door open. She was sitting at the head of her bed, watching whatever it was that was playing on TV. A bag of chips sat in front of her and were they PJs that she was in? He stood awkwardly in the doorway, waiting for her to acknowledge him before he did anything. “I think the remote is– _Patrick_?” She choked out as she turned to face him, her voice breaking slightly in surprise. He shifted his weight uncomfortably as she stared at him for what felt like a solid few minutes, trying to be certain that it was in fact Patrick standing in her hotel room right now. She cleared her throat, looking away from him and back at the TV opposite her to try and hide her flustered composure and the reddening of her cheeks. “Whaaaaat are you doing here?”

He gave a sheepish smile as he pulled the door shut behind him. “Uh, Pete... Pete said something about wanting the room to himself tonight. And I’d rather not have to deal with… _that_ , so I was wondering if it would be cool for me to, um, crash… here?” He stammered.

 

A look of confusion crossed her face before she looked back at him, frowning. The silence between them stretched far too long for Patrick’s comfort. He was about ready to turn around and walk straight back out the door when she finally spoke up. “But Pete said this afternoon that he wanted to watch a movie tonight?”

“Oh.” Suddenly the PJs and snacks made more sense. He glanced between the TV and her, trying to think of what to say. “Well, I saw him about half an hour ago leaving with a girl. I don’t think – I doubt he’s going to be coming.” She nodded softly, staring at the bag of chips. Patrick tried desperately to swallow his steadily rising nerves, he could watch something. And he still needed somewhere to sleep. “I’m up for a movie. Assuming, I mean, if you still wanted the company?”

“Yeah. Yeah, um, that would be nice.” She smiled up at him, and for the first time since he’d stepped into the room he felt a small amount of the tension subside. “I think the remote is dead, though, so we might need to call the lobby or something. I’ve been trying to get it to work for a while now but I can’t get it off the home shopping channel.” She shrugged, gesturing towards whatever weird product they were advertising in that current segment. Patrick crossed the room to place his duffel bag on the empty single bed next to hers before walking up the wall mounted TV and examining it.

 

She watched him with curiosity as he fiddled with the controls on the side of the screen. At first she thought maybe he knew what he was doing, but it soon became apparent that he had absolutely no idea. He repeatedly pressed the mute button. She wasn’t sure if he was hoping that it would do something different each of the five times he pressed it, but it definitely wasn’t getting them off of this channel and towards the movie network. He pressed a few more various button combinations, then somehow he made the picture go green?

“Pat, do you actually know how to get it off that channel?” She asked, an amused smile playing on her lips.

“Yeah, I got it. It’s cool.” He called back, pressing buttons with slightly more force now. Maybe if he just pushed them _harder_ this time.

“Here, let me look at it.” She laughed as she shuffled to the edge of the bed.

“No, no, I got it.” He said with a dismissive wave. She stood up anyway, the movement catching his eye. The standing up part was fine, but as soon as she took the step towards him on her bad ankle, it put too much pressure on the still sore muscles that thought they were done being used for the night. The joint instantly gave way under her. Patrick had already had to catch her a few times this week when her injury played up, but most of those times he was paying considerably more attention than he was right now. He quickly abandoned the TV as he dove down to stop her back colliding with the floor. She had expected to feel the impact of the back of her skull hitting the carpet and she braced herself for the impending doom. But instead she suddenly felt inexplicably warm. She opened her eyes to see a very concerned Patrick standing above her, his arms tightly wrapped around her torso and her hands clinging desperately to the sides of his hoodie.

 

“Shit, are you all right?” His eyes looked frantic as he scanned her for further injuries. “Sorry, I should’ve been – I should’ve stopped you sooner. That stupid TV, I was distracted.” He started listing off his further worries as he pulled the both of them back up to standing, keeping his hold on her to make sure she stayed upright. “And then the amp-”

“Pat,” He stopped his ramblings abruptly. “It’s okay.” She assured him, untangling her hands from his hoodie but still leaving them against his chest. A relieved smile crossed his face as he let out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding. However his smile fell as quickly as it had come when he no longer had his distraction from how close they were to each other. It seemed that the realisation of their proximity dawned on her as well, her cheeks fast becoming as warm as the rest of her felt with his arms around her. She felt the need to object sitting somewhere in the back of her brain, to move away from him and go sit on the far side of the room. But the look in his eyes was enough to cloud her judgement and keep her frozen in place. Because Patrick was just getting _so done_ with waiting, and miscommunications, and everything that had happened on this damn tour. In this moment he was well and truly past the point of remembering his fairly logical and rational idea of getting her to be the one to initiate things. He was at the point of only wanting to hurry up and get to the good bit where they were happy and dating. Surely he could have that just this one time? Surely he could cut the queue and just skip to the best bit _once_ without blowing his chances?

 

He was done waiting. With no further thought on the matter, he brought his lips down to hers and kissed her like his entire existence depended on it. She let out a small noise of surprise, her body tensing at the sudden contact as her mind tried to catch up to his actions. His hand shifted up to the back of her neck, kicking her brain into gear as she remembered that she should maybe consider returning the gesture. She handed herself over to the adrenalin running through her veins, kissing him back and dragging her hands up to his shoulders. He could feel that he was rushing things; that in his haste the kiss was probably too much teeth and uncoordinated movement, not enough time and care and thought put into his actions. But he felt he had to make up for the last three months of missed opportunities. He began moving his kisses to the side of her lips, to her jaw, down her neck. How was he meant to express what he’d been feeling in a single moment? How could he possibly translate enough affection and longing into a kiss? He supposed he could only try his best. He brought his lips back up to hers feverishly, pulling her against him until there was no space left between them. The air around him felt suffocating and like he couldn’t pull enough oxygen in, but he’d be damned if he’d break their kiss for the sake of his lungs. He took a step forward, guiding her back until she was flush against the wall. His foot brushed against her backpack still sitting against the bar fridge, and an image suddenly flashed into his mind of loading the bus. Of tour. Of the two shows that they still had to play. Of leaving.

 

Fuck. FUCK. This was bad. This was not at all what Patrick had wanted to do. It was in fact the _exact_ thing he had worried about doing when he stood outside of her doorway no more than half an hour ago. Thirty minutes was all it took him to cave. Thirty measly minutes. _Fuck_. He wanted _her_ to kiss _him_ , not the other way around. She was the one who still had her reservations, not him. This was never going to work out if he was the one making all the moves. He reluctantly pulled himself away from her, pressing his forehead to hers as he pressed his eyes shut in frustration. As much as he wanted nothing more than to try and show her what she meant to him, he refused to force her into this decision. It had to be something that she came to him with. If only he could just find the right words to say to get her to. She looked up at him to see the concentration etched in his features. A million separate trains of thought ran through her head, all steadily heading towards a collision course. It left her barely any room to actually hold a coherent reason as to why she shouldn’t kiss him again. The reasons seemed to be pretty few and far between these days. A deep sigh escaped his lungs as he finally opened his eyes. They looked a lot darker than what they normally were, and she couldn’t quite place what it was he looked like he was feeling.

 

“I… I should go...” He breathed, barely audible over her own heartbeat ringing through her ears.

“Pat-” She started, trying her best not to drown in the sea of blue in his eyes.

“I should go.” He repeated, more sure of it this time as forced himself to break their eye contact and shift his gaze to the small section of floor between them.

She was silent for a few seconds. “I… Y-yeah, maybe...” She muttered. The electricity pulsing through him was telling him to stay, to tell her all the things he had wanted to say for months. He nodded firmly, pulling himself back and instantly hating the loss of contact. He swallowed hard, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides to try and regain control over his impulses.

“I’ll – I’ll see you tomorrow.” He forced himself towards the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. He held it so tightly that his knuckles burned white. “Sleep well.” He mumbled under his breath as he willed his feet to move him out of the room and not turn around. He took in a deep breath in the clearer air of the corridor as he pulled the door shut, trying to shake the thoughts from his mind that were begging him to go back in and finish what he started.


	21. I've Been Dying to Tell You Anything You Want to Hear

**Sunday, 8 th of July, 2007 - Kansas City, Missouri**

Patrick refused to let this kiss go down like the last one had. It would not get swept under the rug. They would not pretend like nothing had happened. And they most definitely would not start avoiding each other after it. He was determined to make sure that she was well aware of his stance on the matter and not be throwing out mixed signals. So, rather than backing off like he had done previously, he got as close as he could without breaking his internal rules about who had to be calling the shots at this point in time. If there was a lull in conversation, he’d fill it. Any chance there was to hang out, he’d jump on. Whenever the seat was free next to her, he’d take it. If they had no plans for the day, he’d suggest some that involved the two of them together. He didn’t play dumb to his intentions, but he also carefully avoided bringing up topics that might scare her off. He opted to keep around topics like mutual interests and things that seemed to make her eyes light up when he mentioned them. Once he had worked out that music – especially _his_ music – was clearly a good talking point, things seemed to flow a lot easier. Since the discovery of that particular discussion weak point, the one which finally seemed to get her to open up, it had given way to a torrent of conversation over the week. He was finding that he had a lot less trouble working out the direction to take things in. For once, he actually felt like he knew what he was doing, and that it might be working. 

 

In the meantime, her grasp on why she wasn’t meant to be dating Patrick was fast slipping. She hadn’t heard from the label in a couple of weeks now. Their last communication with her was to tell her that she was doing a good job with Pete and that they looked forward to seeing her in Chicago. This on top of the fact that she’d been around Patrick every single day for nearly two months was taking its toll on her perception. He seemed to only be working his way further under her skin. With each passing day it was like he somehow only got _more_ charming. A part of her was well aware that she was letting him get away with it. The occasional flirty remark, hanging out all the time, these were all things that she could probably say no to if she really wanted. She could probably close herself off from his friendship again and go back to how things were when they were on their break. However, she found it harder and harder to bring herself to want to do that. She enjoyed the friendship too much to want to cut it off for a second time. But the longer she let it linger, the further she fell and the hazier her objections became. The main thing that still remained was the feeling deep in the pit of her stomach that dating Patrick could only end badly for the both of them.

 

On Sunday they made their way down to Kansas from Denver. Patrick had decided it was a good time to test the waters of suggesting that they catch up when they were back in Chicago. He had thought it might be a bit of a touchy topic, given that the last time he had tried to get her to hang out outside of what was technically “work” she’d left him alone in the bar and they had never brought it up again. And he still wasn’t entirely sure where exactly he’d gone wrong that night, but he was determined to make it work this time. It was now or never. There was only a little over a week until they were back at home, which left him even less time to try and get a solid plan in place for them to continue seeing each other once tour was over. So when they were stuck on the bus for another nine hour drive, he sat himself across from her in their tiny excuse for a dining room and began talking. He’d played the mutual interest card again until he found a topic that particularly seemed to get her hooked. Ghostbusters. A personal favourite of his, and one that was easy enough to work into his plan.

“I’ve got a pretty decent collection of eighties movies back at home.” He’d eventually said, trying not to let the nerves get to him as he continued. “You should come round and we can watch a few sometime.” He had dropped the bait. Now he just had to hope she picked it up.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” She said with a nod, giving him a small smile.

“Awesome. It’s a date.”

 

He watched with interest as her smile quickly fell and a blush steadily made its way onto her cheeks. She looked at him, half expecting him to laugh, or smile, or something. Any kind of reaction or indication that it was a light-hearted, joking remark. But instead she was just met with his unwavering gaze and an unreadable expression. It made his statement that much harder to respond to, as it seemed like he was entirely awaiting her reaction on it and that was the last thing she wanted to give. Giving a reaction to the offer of a date would mean that she’d have to actually come to a decision and she wasn’t sure she was ready to do that. After a moment of faltering over her words, she managed to choke out something along the mumbled lines of “yeahmaybeokay” as she quickly made her way out of the kitchen and to the back of the bus where Pete was sitting. Patrick laughed quietly under his breath as he watched her flustered exit.

 

Pete had been listening to music and trying to get some rest, but he opened his eyes as he felt the weight on the seat in front of him. He stared at her with interest as she sat across from him, looking like she was about to have a panic attack.

“Yes?” He prompted as he took his headphones out.

“I need a drink.”

He couldn’t help the snort of laughter that came out. “You what?”

“I need a drink.” She repeated, before dropping her voice lower. “Patrick’s been… very forward all day and I don’t know what to do. I just need to get out of the bus and clear my head.”

Pete stared at her for a moment, his mind ticking as a grin spread across his face. “You just want to get drunk and not have to deal with it.”

She blushed even harder at being called out on it. “Yes, fine. Whatever.” She huffed, her gaze flicking to the floor.

“I’m probably not who you should talk to about substance abuse.” He pointed out with an eyebrow raised. “ _Or_ relationships.” He added with a laugh.

“Please, Pete?” She looked up at him from under her eyelashes, trying to put on her best sympathy inducing pout.

He rolled his eyes, eventually unable to stop himself from caving under the scrutiny of that look. “I guess.” He sighed.

 

They arrived at their hotel in Missouri not too long after the date incident. The sun was just setting on the horizon as the concierge began retrieving all of their personal bags from the bus. All of them piled out and found themselves awkwardly standing in the carpark for a beat. Everyone could sense the mild tension that hung in the air.

She took in a sharp breath. “Pete and I-” She started, tugging on the sleeve of the bassists hoodie slightly, about to start their getaway.

But Patrick interrupted her before she could finish. “Me and Andy are gonna go grab some dinner.” He said coolly.

“Oh?” Andy raised his eyebrows in surprise as he turned to Patrick. “Are we just?”

“Yes, yes we are. We’ll see you all later.” He said with a nod as he began walking down the street. Andy took a glance back at the group before shrugging and following the guitarist into the unknown. The three of them stood there in confusion, watching half of the band walk away.

“Well…” She turned back to Joe and Pete. “As I was going to say, Pete and I are going to go get a drink.” She said, quickly glancing around the street for the nearest bar. “Let’s go.” She added as she dragged Pete off. Joe stood alone in the carpark, frowning at the sunset through his sunglasses.

“Cool… I’ll just hang out in the hotel by myself then, shall I?” He muttered under his breath as he turned on his heel and walked towards the hotel.

 

The two of them stepped into the bar across the road from the hotel, taking note of the bottles of liquor lining the wall behind the bartender. Pete said something quietly to him as they walked past that she couldn’t quite catch. He gave a sharp nod in response as they took up residence at a table in the back. After a few minutes of superficial chit chat the bartender came up to them with a tray full of clear shots. He placed it down on the table, Pete handed him a wad of bills, and he walked away. Silence fell over the two of them as she stared at the tray, counting the small glasses on it.

“It’s maybe not healthy to have that many shots.” She said with a frown as she looked across to Pete.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He nodded, picking one up and examining it. “Good thing they’re not for me, then.” A wicked grin spread across his face as he placed the shot down on the table in front of her.

She looked down at the shot, then back to Pete. “What?”

“We’re gonna play a game. You’re going to take a shot every time I can debunk a reason why you shouldn’t date my good friend Patrick.” He explained, slowly taking the shots off of the tray and lining them up along the middle of the table.

“I what now?” She asked.

“You heard me.” He held her gaze firmly. “For every reason you give me that I can convince you _isn’t_ worth your concern, you take a shot. For every reason you can convince me is justified, I’ll take one.” She pursed her lips in silent contemplation, already pretty certain that this was a terrible idea for her liver. “You’re the one who wanted to get a drink.” He reminded with a laugh. “And I’ve already bought the shots. So come on, let’s hear your _excuses_.” He smirked.

 

“All right.” She sighed, racking her brain for her most solid reasons that she and Patrick hadn’t started dating months ago. “Well, first: my job is not secure. I only have a temporary contract and the label wanted me back at my desk job last I heard.” She pushed the shot in front of her back in his direction.

“You asked to come back on tour after our break, didn’t you?” He questioned.

“Yeah.” She nodded. He pushed the shot back towards her.

“So why can’t you ask to stay on again? Drink.” She opened her mouth to continue to argue the point, but Pete wasn’t having it. “No. One reason at a time. You can ask to renew your contract and the label will probably do what you want. Or, you can quit and get a job that can be done from the road. _Drink_.” She reluctantly picked up the glass in front of her, feeling the vodka burn as she swallowed. Pete tried his best not to laugh at the sour expression she pulled. “Next.”

“You guys travel all the time, it’s hard to keep in touch over different time zones. What am I going to-”

“We’ll pay for you to come with us if you can’t yourself.” Pete interrupted. “That is, of course assuming that the label doesn’t keep you in your current job. Drink.” She downed another shot, holding in the cough caused by the burn in the back of her throat. “Next. Go.”

 

She glanced down at the table in front of her. A sudden wave of insecurity and sadness overtook her, that sinking feeling in her gut coming back in full swing. “What if Pat just doesn’t want me around?” She murmured quietly. Pete didn’t answer; he only pushed a shot forward. “Really, what if he doesn’t, Pete?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He scoffed. “He _obviously_ wants you around. Have you _seen him_? Drink.”

She drank the shot, instantly launching into the next reason. “I don’t want to hurt him.” Her voice was beginning to slur, her body starting to catch up to the alcohol into her system.

Pete pushed another across the table. “He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself and make his own decisions.”

Another shot down. They weren’t burning anymore. “What about my family and… stuff in Chicago?”

“That’s what phones are for, and why we come home when we can.” He didn’t even have to push the shot forward; she just grabbed it of her own volition.

 

Five shots of vodka quickly took its hold on her bloodstream as the conversation became less coherent. Her reasons stopped being anything close to logical, and started becoming things like: “But he’s a dog person” punctuated with bouts of laughter. Pete tried his best to fight these illogical reasons, but somehow her drunken ramblings made most of the reasons actually fairly solid, even if they were almost all minor excuses that wouldn’t stop her from dating him. He found himself finally taking the shots of vodka himself when he couldn’t argue, though there wasn’t enough left on the table for him to catch up to how many she’d already had. They’d been at the bar for less than an hour and they were both already in fits of drunken laughter in the corner, earning disapproving looks from the other patrons. They stayed for a few hours after their shots had been cleared away, drinking slower and less potent booze than what they had been. But the alcohol still raged through them both. They were almost definitely going to be unwell in the morning and have to deal with hangovers during the show.

 

It was close to midnight by the time he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close.

“I think,” He hiccupped. “I think that your reasons are _stupid_ , and that you should date Tricky.” He slurred as he looked down at her fondly.

“I think you’re probably right, Pete.” She mumbled into his hoodie. “I should probably ask him on a date or something.”

“YES!” He shouted in victory, jumping to his feet. He nearly pulled her to the floor in the process of how quickly he removed his arm, and he almost tumbled to the floor himself due to the head rush from the sudden change in altitude. “WE SHOULD CELEBRATE!” He picked up one of the glasses on the table, throwing it to the floor and shattering it into tiny pieces across the room. The bartender shouted something loudly at them, but it was lost on their drunken ears.

“Pete!” She tried to scold him, though it hardly seemed stern while she was still trying to right herself on her chair. “Don’t break things!”

“ANOTHER ROUND OF SHOTS!” He bellowed.

“No more shots for you two.” The bartender said, suddenly appearing next to them and starting to usher them both from the building. Pete slipped the man a wad of bills on their way out. The bartender was pretty sure that he still thought he was paying for more alcohol, but he took the money anyway and pushed them towards a taxi.

 

They stumbled into the hotel after a rocky cab ride, both nearly throwing up into the seat pocket in front of them but – thankfully for Pete’s wallet – avoiding it. The lobby staff shot them curious looks as they struggled to keep their balance, but didn’t intervene. It wasn’t in their pay grade to have to deal with drunks. The label had to book rooms on separate floors in this hotel for them, as apparently it was highly sought after at this time of year and most of them were booked out. Pete spent a long time studying the markings on his key card, trying to decipher what strange language it was written in before his eyes focused and he realised that they were, in fact, numbers. He mumbled something about seeing double as he punched in the button on the number pad for his floor. They rode the elevator mostly in silence, except for the giddy laughter that spilled from them every now and then. As the doors slid open, he went to step out before turning back to her.

“You’ve gotta date him now.” He reminded with a drunken grin. She nodded back, pressing in her button as he turned to head towards his room. The lift stopped at her floor and she tried to maintain her balance as she racked her brain for what her door looked like.

 

The thing about hotels though, is that all the doors look the same except for the numbers on them. She walked down the hall once, not seeing her door in the sea of them. Then turned around and walked back down towards the elevator to inspect them again. One door in particular caught her attention, and she frowned at the numbers on it for a good few minutes trying to determine if it was familiar because it was hers. The door of it was ever so slightly ajar, and she hadn’t been to her hotel room yet. So her door couldn’t be open. Could it? Maybe the concierge had left it open when they brought her bags up. A nagging feeling in the back of her brain told her that someone had said the numbers on that door to her earlier today. That was reason enough for her to investigate. She pushed the door open, instantly causing a stream of light to fill the otherwise dark room. It almost definitely wasn’t her room. She didn’t have any hats with her on tour, she was pretty sure her bags didn’t look like that, and she certainly didn’t own any guitars. But she was pretty confident all of these items were owned by one particular person, and the familiar mop of blonde hair spilling onto the pillow confirmed that. She walked over to the bed, flopping down next to the half-asleep Patrick and pushing her face into his back.

 

Patrick’s first thought when he felt someone all but slam into his back was that Pete must have broken into his room again to pull some weird prank. But as he rolled over to shove the assailant away, his eyes adjusted to the light still pouring into the room and he recognised the girl lying across from him. She smelled fairly strongly of alcohol and the clock on the bedside table said that it was nearly two in the morning. What had she and Pete been doing all night? His brain took a moment to process this information as he stood up and closed his hotel room door. She didn’t look in any sort of state to be getting up from the bed any time soon, and he could sleep on the couch in the corner if he had to. He sat back down on the edge of where he had been lying, calling her name a few times to try and drag her back to reality. Her eyes shot open when he lightly placed his hand on her shoulder.

“ _Pat_ ,” She slurred, grabbing his wrist and harshly pulling him back down into the bed. His head landed with a thump back into the pillows, narrowly missing the headboard. He stared up at it in bewilderment as she continued. “I need to talk to you.”

“Right now?” He laughed as he readjusted his position to be somewhat more comfortable and further away from a potential concussion. He tried his best to keep his distance from her, but it was hard when she had given him about six inches of space to lie down on.

“Yes! Yes, right now.” She nodded firmly.

“Okay, I’m listening.” He said, moving to brush some of the hair out of her face.

“Pete helped me come to an important decision.” She declared with an incredibly proud look.

“About?” He asked, trying to contain his amused smile.

“I…” She frowned to herself as her sentence trailed off. The confusion was evident on her face while she tried to remember what she was meant to say. “I forgot.”

 

He gave her a few minutes to potentially recall her great epiphany, but she didn’t continue her train of thought. Eventually he had to bring himself to do the responsible thing.

“Maybe you’ll remember in the morning. But you should get some sleep.” He said, shifting to pry himself away from the bed.

“No,” She whined, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him back against her. “Not tired.”

“I can sleep on the couch, it’s okay.” He tried to reassure her, but her grip only tightened.

“Stay.” She mumbled into his chest.

“I, uh, what?” He asked in surprise, the butterflies springing to life in his stomach.

“Stay here.” He tried to think of a good reason not to, but found that his throat ran dry. She was going to be paying for her bad decisions in the morning, so it would probably do him good to know when she got up and be able to help. He nodded softly, pulling her into a hug as they both quickly drifted off to sleep.


	22. I Could Be Him

**Monday, 9 th of July, 2007 – Kansas City, Missouri**

As Patrick had expected, he was awoken the following morning by the sounds of someone violently throwing up in his hotel bathroom. It was still fairly early, only the slightest hints of light were filtering in from the balcony window. They had a show today, that much he remembered. The rest was taking its sweet time to return to his memory. His brain took a few moments to recall the events of last night as he rose to his feet, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. She had woken him up a few times throughout their sleep, tossing and turning and muttering about ‘something important’, though she’d never remembered exactly what that was. He listened carefully at the door, knocking lightly on it.  

“You all right?” He called, his hand hovering above the handle in hesitation. When he didn’t get a reply he pushed the – thankfully unlocked – door open. She was slumped across the toilet seat, her arms either side of her head, her face mostly obscured by her hair. His instant reaction was to pull her hair back from the danger zone, quickly grabbing it into a messy ponytail and tucking it into the collar of her shirt so that it wouldn’t fall forward again. She looked up at him at the contact.

“Hey, Pat.” She mumbled, having to squint at him in the darkness of the bathroom.

“Hey. How’re you doing?” He asked, the concern evident in his voice.

“Fantastic.” She answered sarcastically. He let out a snort of laughter as he grabbed the plastic cup by the sink, filling it with water and handing it to her.

“Here. Might help.” She took it gratefully, but drank it far too quick. The instant impact on her throat only caused her to lose what little remained in the contents of her stomach.

 

Patrick stayed in the dark bathroom, handing her glasses of water and offering soothing touches when required. After about half an hour it seemed that the nausea had mostly passed. “So, did you remember what that _super_ important thing was that made you barge in here at two in the morning?” He asked casually as he grabbed a cloth and ran it under cold water.

“Important thing?” She asked in confusion, frowning.

He handed the damp cloth to her. “You said you’d come to a decision about something, but never said what.” He shrugged. She stared up at him as she ran through last night in her head. It came back bit by bit, and eventually she found a furious blush spreading across her cheeks. She was suddenly incredibly thankful that he hadn’t turned the light on yet.

“No.” She lied, wiping her face down with the cloth as an excuse not to have to meet his gaze.

He let out a huff of air. “Oh well.” He sighed. “At least it was my room you stumbled into, not anyone else’s.” He laughed.

 

“I’m gonna get ready. We’ve got a show tonight. Give me a shout if you need me.” She watched him as he straightened a few items on the counter before he left the bathroom. When she was sure he wasn’t coming back in for a while, she let out the breath she had been holding. She rested her forehead on the cool porcelain below her and let out a low groan. Half out of pain from her hangover, half out of frustration. Truthfully, she remembered perfectly well why she had seen it fit to burst into his hotel room after binge drinking with Pete. And stumbling into _his_ room had been no accident after he’d mentioned his room number to her earlier that day when they were given their keys. At the time, she had thought it would be an excellent idea to ask him on a date for when they were back in Chicago. In hindsight, doing that while she was drunk was probably not the best idea. Patrick deserved better than that. But her current state wasn’t really any better either. With her head in his toilet bowl and him bring forced to take care of her, it hardly seemed like the time or place to admit that. She would have to wait.

**Saturday, 14 th of July, 2007 - Chicago, Illinois**

The only issue with the plan of waiting was that they barely saw each other that day due to show preparations. That night they all wanted sleep for their drive home. Then the next day when they were travelling back to Chicago, a cramped tour bus and three eavesdropping pairs of ears hardly seemed the time to have a heart to heart conversation. The day after that was their last show, their big home town finale. Set up and sound check took up the majority of their time. The show lead on to a welcome home party, which lead to a couple of days of post-party recovery and catch-ups with people they hadn’t seen in months, which lead to it having been _six days_ since she said she would say something and she still hadn’t. She was starting to think that maybe she _should_ have just told him while she was halfway through vomiting into his hotel room toilet; at least they had some time to themselves then. Pete was also starting to get on her case about having not asked him yet after saying she would. The only benefit of being forced to wait this long before she could follow through was that it allowed her enough time to think of a good way to do it. She had decided that inviting Patrick out for a dinner might be a nice setting to ease the mood and offer them both some time to relax after the chaos of the week. The table was booked and ready to go at a decent restaurant downtown; she had already prepared what she wanted to say. Though, she hadn’t counted on Patrick bringing the whole band along with him. That threw a spanner in the works.

 

Patrick had already convinced himself that this was goodbye, both to him and the band. As soon as she’d invited them out to a formal dinner, it set off the alarm bells in his head. He had already worked himself up so much in his head over the fact that nothing had happened since he kissed her that he was utterly convinced this was her bringing them out to dinner to tell them that she’d gotten a new job. Or was moving to a new town. A new state. A new country. Somewhere that he wasn’t. But regardless of the fact that he was absolutely sweating through his jacket with nerves, he played it cool and acted like everything was okay. When he rocked up and found her sitting at a table for two, that threw him for a loop. In the space it took him to walk from the door of the restaurant to the table he had talked himself into the fact that she was breaking up with him. Breaking up with him before anything had even started. His other three band members took the table across from them while he sat down across from her, an anxious smile playing on his lips. They hadn’t had much time to properly talk since they’d gotten home. Mostly just exchanging superficial conversation topics and saying they needed to hang out.

 

The silence at their table was deafening. They’d both spent a bit on their phones at the start, trying to fill the space between them with distractions until their food arrived. Patrick didn’t want to say anything for fear of fucking it up even more. She didn’t want to say anything for fear of the words coming out wrong. Eventually, they both decided it was best to at least say _something._

“I’ve got something I want-”

“Look, I think we need to-”

They both stared at each other wide eyed for a moment. “Uh, y-you go.” He said with an encouraging nod. He could already feel his palms getting clammy and his heart beating a mile a minute.  

“No, no. Say what you were going to say first.” She said as her eyes flicked down to the table, a blush found its way onto her cheeks.

“Well, um… me and Andy were talking, and… And you should know that if you wanted to pursue stuff other than the band, that’s cool. I’ll be your friend no matter what you do, where you go, I’m still gonna be here. Or not be here, if – if you’d prefer that.” The words were tumbling out of his mouth quicker than he would’ve liked them to, but at least they were out there now. “I know that leaving has been a worry of yours, so I just wanted you to know that it’s, uh, it’s okay.” He nodded sharply to himself as he finished the sentence, feeling better for having said his piece.

 

She stared at him in bewilderment. That was definitely not the turn she had expected the conversation to take after him being persistent for her attention for nearly two weeks now. “Oh… That’s…” She cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure for what she had wanted to say “Very kind of you to say, Patrick.”

He shrugged slightly, choosing to fiddle with his fork rather than look back at her. “What was it that you were going to say?”

“Well, actually the opposite of that.” She said with a laugh. “I was actually thinking that my job might be fairly secure.”

He glanced up at her, finding himself confused by the smile that he was met with. “What?” He frowned.

“I was hired to make sure that the band didn’t cost the label more than they needed to, and to make sure that you all behave and don’t get yourselves into trouble. Right?” She continued, taking his hand in hers. His eyes flicked from their hands, back to her, nodding slightly as he tried to follow.

 

“Have you learned anything, Pete?” She asked loudly, not tearing her eyes away from Patrick’s.

Pete knew that this was his cue. As soon as she had texted him when they all sat down, he knew that this was what she had been talking about. The shit-eating grin on his face threatened to split it in two as he bundled up the fabric in front of him. “No!” He shouted back as he ripped the table cloth out from under all of their plates. Unlike some skilled people who might be able to do this without causing any damage, Pete’s actions instantly brought all of their plates, cutlery, food, glasses, _everything_ clattering down to the ground. Many loud shouts could be heard from the servers, kitchen staff and also Pete’s frustrated bandmates whose dinner was now spread across the floor. Patrick jumped at the noise of the stunt, staring at the mess in surprise. The restaurant fell into an uncomfortable silence as someone begrudgingly came over with a dustpan and brush. The grin never left Pete’s face.

 “I – I don’t-” Patrick started.

“I guess _someone_ is gonna have to hang around to keep him in check. Probably stay on tour with you guys.” She mused, unable to stop the smile spreading across her face.

 

Patrick’s brain had all together stopped working. He was so prepared for the fact that this was goodbye that this conversation going in the complete _opposite_ direction just broke him. He felt like he might as well be one of those glasses on the floor right now, shattered into a million pieces and being thrown into the bin. Thankfully, this did not deter her from continuing what she had wanted to say. “I already spoke to the label, they’re happy to keep me on if I’m happy to stay. Said it was good to have the inside word on what you guys were up to and someone to run information through. And Pete’s said that even if something happens down the track we could probably swing something to help me stay. So I guess you’re stuck with me.” She finished. Those last few words were enough for Patrick to remember how to function as he all but leapt across the table to kiss her. A few pieces of cutlery and his wine glass tumbled to the floor in his hasty actions, but he couldn’t hear anything else over her words replaying in his mind. The kiss didn’t last long as Patrick found himself grinning far too much to actually kiss properly.

“I would love absolutely nothing more than to be stuck with you.” He laughed.

She beamed back at him. “Did you wanna maybe go on an official date? Next week sometime?” She asked. The hollering sounds of approval that came from the table across from them were nearly enough to deafen Patrick, though it didn’t stop him from nodding eagerly.  Between the noise and the destruction, the restaurant had well and truly had enough. They grabbed the two offending tables, forcibly removing them from the restaurant. But nothing could dampen the mood of the now happy couple who left hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnndddd, that's it! Thanks so much to everyone who's read this. It's been a hell of an experience for me to write it, and I'm really glad that I could get it to (what I think is) completion. Special thanks to those of you who read it week to week, because in the end I was writing week to week as well :P If you've got any questions, feel free to shoot them my way. But that's it for Key of Reason and that's it for the regular updates because I'm officially out of regular ideas. I hope you guys all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed creating it. :D


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